


Troublemaker

by anapkin_skywalker (noirhound)



Series: The Calrissian Chronicles [1]
Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, L3-37 did not sign up for this, LANDO IS A PANSEXUAL SPACE BITCH AND WE'RE GOING TO EMBRACE IT, Lando POV, M/M, chewbacca did not sign up for this, it jumps around canon so im not entirely sure, lando develops Feelings, lando did not sign up for this, like i didn't even see this angst coming, literally only han is excited about space adventures, qi'ra is conveniently unavailable during the parts where han and lando smush, shenanigans aboard the falcon, sorta kinda not really canon compliant, there are spoilers for solo: a star wars story, this is mostly filling up their interactions throughout solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noirhound/pseuds/anapkin_skywalker
Summary: Lando loses the Falcon to Han, but instead of letting him grouse, Han talks him into joining his ragtag crew.Normally, Lando would be itching to get his hands on a job, but a friends-with-benefits situation he's somehow magically developed with Han might make finishing this particular job a little difficult.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon divergent (but it lines up with the trailer) and there's going to be a lot more of it, so, in the words of the Original Space Pimp™, "you might wanna...buckle up, baby."
> 
> (P.S. let's be real, guys. "Anything, Haen." is such a goddamn power move like good gravy Lando control yourself)
> 
> A Summary of OCs:  
> ygritte bettes is supposed to be like, the celine dion of star wars, and her main accessory is a thigh holster. eat your heart out, han solo.  
> yes, opel has a wife. Boom, space lesbians. You're welcome.  
> I feel like there's enough backstory to Declan Goorst (asshole, rage issues, sucks at gambling) so I won't elaborate too much. He could show up later, you never know.  
> J4-25 is the droid from the 'Han meets Lando' clip that says something in droidspeak before Lando introduces himself. Disney offered no translation, so for the sake of the story, that's what he said.

The intruder at the table smiles, all pointed canines and brackets carving into the sides of his mouth, and at the same time the grin on Lando’s face stutters. He leans back in his seat, having pulled the deliciously tall pile of winnings closer to his end of the table, and purses his lips. “Is this seat taken?” Arrogance spills off him in waves. Lando’s first thought is _Imperial officer?_ Then it occurs to him that no Imperial officer, even attempting the deepest undercover assignment, would ever be caught _dead_ in the hideous, crumpled khakis that this man wears tucked into tall, dirty boots. Heck, _Lando_ wouldn’t be caught dead in them.

“If nobody’s sittin’ in it, it ain’t taken, friend.” Lando adds the word ‘friend’ ironically. No way would he be friends with this guy. The unpleasantly surprised expression on his face speaks volumes.

Lando quickly shuffles the deck of cards, surveying this man. This…this filthy scoundrel, dressed in a weathered-down brown jacket, and an undershirt that looks like it hasn’t been washed in years, has the gall to sit his butt down at _Lando’s_ table.

Is that a fucking _thigh holster?_ Who the hell does he think he is, Ygritte Bettes?

 _The nerve on this punk,_ he scoffs a little bit as he deals. He’s done this so many times that he doesn’t even have to count anymore. It’s become muscle memory; imprinted into his brain. He knows exactly when to stop dealing. Rather than keeping track of the number of cards everyone’s got, he focuses his energy into burning a hole into that stupid man’s head.

Why does a stranger make Lando so agitated, you ask?

Lando knows when someone comes to the table with a purpose. The air in the room changes. Suddenly sabacc is no longer about a simple way to unwind and get the adrenaline pumping after a hard day of…of doing whatever. It’s about big stakes; big bets; big money. If you win? You get to go home, with pockets overstuffed with credits, and your pride intact. But if you lose?

Let’s just say there’s no room for losers _._

Lando _also_ knows when someone has a bone to pick with him, specifically. So, when this man settles into the empty seat—previously occupied by a blue woman named Opel Gore whom Lando was kind of hoping to score with, but had left a long time ago on the arm of her wife—Lando knows that the man can’t be trusted. Knows that he’s come here for…for something that belongs to Lando. Which is _not_ something Lando is okay with. No _sir._ His capes? His money? Something else?

Whatever it may be, Lando has had one hell of a day, so he is just _not in the fucking mood_. For one thing, he’d run into his old pal, Declan Goorst.

‘Pal’ would be a bit of an exaggeration. ‘Man-who-believes-Lando-cheats-at-sabacc-and-demands-death-as-compensation-for-losses’ is more appropriate.

In Lando’s defense, the man could barely hold the cards upright. He really shouldn’t be stepping out of his house if he comes off as such an easy target. He was practically _begging_ to be played. Better Lando take advantage of that and relieve Goorst of some prized blasters, than another man who could do more crippling things, both financially and physically. And Lando, ever the selfless soul, did just that; those blasters look very nice in the Falcon’s armory. This was three years ago. Apparently, Goorst was the type to nurture grudges into adulthood, till they became large, ugly, troll-grudges with drab clothes and no personality.

Regardless to say, Lando spent all day dodging Goorst and praying that his disguise was thick enough that the bigger, angrier man wouldn’t recognize him. Finally, he’d resorted to dressing up as a woman and ducking into a tavern. Goorst had come and gone, and now that Lando was back in his beautiful black suede trousers and yellow tunic shirt, he was feeling… _lucky_.

Now, a hop, skip, and a trip through hyperspace away, he finds himself smugly dealing cards after a winning streak that sends the other players home, licking their wounds and cursing the name ‘Calrissian’.

Long story short: Lando is _tired._ Lando is finally having a _good time_ , after all his trouble _._ And nobody, not even this…this steaming pile of Bantha shit with a grin that is enough to power both the moons of Tatooine, can put a damper on that. _Especially_ the steaming pile of Bantha shit with a grin that is enough to power both the moons of Tatooine, who seems to itch for victor’s spoils from Lando’s metaphorical pocket.

Lando’s fingers stop dealing cards, and the remaining gamblers clustered around the table arrange the ones in their hands neatly; nervously. Lando’s eyes don’t leave the new addition to their game.

“So, this is…saback?” asks the newcomer. Lando fights the urge to cringe. _You wanna play at the grown-ups table? Learn how to pronounce the damn name, rookie._

Instead, he smoothly tosses a card face-down onto the center of the table. “Sabacc,” he corrects in an emotionless voice.

“Sabacc,” the stranger echoes, lips curling around the word, as if tasting it. “Got it.” His voice is deep and warm. His eyes peruse Lando just as much as Lando’s do him.

Lando refuses to believe that this stranger has tried sabacc even once in his life, so he puts on a casual front and asks, “You’ve played before?”

The man gives him a lopsided shrug, fanning the cards in his long fingers. “Little bit, yeah.” There is a fraction of a frown on Lando’s face, but he is quick to return his expression to a neutral one. The second the cards are dealt, the game begins. At any moment, one small slip-up could cost you everything. The sabacc veterans around the table know this from experience.

J4-25, seated at Lando’s left, makes an indignant noise. “Keep it in your pants, Calrissian. We’re here to play, not score,” he says. Lando glowers internally. _You’re gonna regret that later, Jayfour. Oh, you’re gonna regret that._

“Captain Lando Calrissian,” Lando drawls, sinking lower in his seat by spreading his knees further apart.

“Han Solo,” the stranger replies, touching his free hand to his chest, still smiling politely. Han Solo’s eyes skitter over Lando’s teetering pile of winnings, and raises an eyebrow. “You look like you’re having a good day,” he says. Lando finds so many things wrong with that sentence, but he bites back the snide comments and saves them up for when he has to gloat, later. Post-beating Han Solo and his dumb face into the dirt.

“I’m a lucky guy,” he shrugs, placing a stack of credits on the table, and feels an odd sense of pride at his incomprehensible amounts of self-control.

“Can I ask you a question, _Captain_ Calrissian?” Lando’s eyes dart away from his cards and lock with Han Solo’s. Is this…some sort of power move? Elthree barely even calls Lando ‘Captain’, and on those occasions, he actually _is_ the captain.

If he’s being honest, he kind of likes that Han Solo calls him ‘Captain’, power move or not. He kind of likes the way the title sounds in Han Solo’s low, rumbling voice. He kind of hopes Han Solo will call him ‘Captain’ again.

He shakes himself internally. Tonight, is about the game. Much as he’d like to deny it, Jayfour was right. He wasn’t here to find somebody to take to bed (or the cockpit of the Falcon if they couldn’t wait.) He was here to _win,_ and win he would.

“Anything, Han _,_ ” says Lando, doing his best to appear half-interested by twirling a tchotchke in his fingers and pronouncing ‘Han’ as ‘Haen’. If Han Solo wants to make a power move, then he’s just made a power move against the guy who basically _invented_ the power move. _Suck on that, Han Solo,_ Lando thinks to himself smugly.

Han Solo clicks his tongue. “It’s ‘Han’,” he smiles, either coldly or exasperatedly, “but that’s okay.” Lando’s gaze doesn’t leave Han Solo as the former exchanges his cards for his cup, leaning back in his seat. “I heard a story about you,” begins Han Solo, and now the question is _which_ story is he referring to. “And I was wondering if it’s true.”

There are so many stories about Lando. About his capes (why wouldn’t there be, really?) About his skill at sabacc. About the people (and aliens) he’s bedded. About his exploits. About his ship; the fastest ship in the galaxy. Some are highly exaggerated. Some don’t do the actual deed justice. Of course, most are fairly accurate, because rumors take root in truth.

Lando props his elbow against the armrest of his chair, and holds his cup to shoulder-level for the little liquor droid he knows is hovering somewhere behind him to refill. “Everything,” Lando says in the lowest, smoothest voice he can muster, “you’ve heard about me,” he points to himself with two fingers, “is true.”

Lando smirks a little as he watches Han Solo arrange his cards, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth slightly, an act of intense concentration. Lando leans into the armrest of his chair; the throne for the king of sabacc, and touches his fingers to the side of his temple, tilting his chin up ever so slightly. _I am going to put you in your place, Han Solo,_ Lando assures himself. _Just you wait._

* * *

 

Han rolls off Lando four hours later, gasping and grinning like a maniac. Lando stares up at the ceiling of his bunk aboard the Millennium Falcon, eyes wide. “That was…” he exhales heavily. “That was _not_ how I pictured that going.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look, more space gays. i had other things to do, but here we are.
> 
> this chapter is where it diverges from canon because why not
> 
> this chapter is also where it gets mildly spoilery, but i changed the ending to the scene from the "Han meets Lando" clip for Plot Purposes. I'm not sure if i'm making much sense because im sleep deprived af, but there are probably going to be big spoilers and slight canon compliance from here, so for your own sake just watch the damn movie and come back to this. it isn't going anywhere.
> 
> also i cannot for the life of me write smut so instead have lots of explicit making out and all that good good ;)

 

Sometime later in the night, Lando wakes up with his chest feeling hollow and the alcohol finally registering inside his head. _Fucking. Ow._

Han is still asleep; he had been curled up beside Lando, their legs and arms tangled together. Lando blinks, confused.  _What is he doing here?_

Something horrible occurs to him, and Lando panics. He gingerly pats himself down through the covers, and - 

Yep.

Lando Calrissian is sans pants. Sans any and all forms of clothing, really.

The events of last night come rushing back to him.

He remembers losing the Falcon to Han.

He remembers being outraged. Anger thrumming in his veins.

He remembers trying to drown in cheap Vandorian rum. He remembers Han's hand on his, trying to apologize; trying to console him. He remembers shoving Han away.

He remembers screaming and yelling at Han, and being thrown out into the street with him by the barkeeper for making a scene.

_"Lando, why are you being a dick about this? I beat you, fair and square!"_

_"She's all I have, Han!"_  

It starts to get fuzzy, after that. Lots of words. Lots of walking. At some point, after or during Lando's long elaborate spiel on how the ship is more than just a ship to him, Han slips an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. He exhales, and kisses him. It's quick and messy, and at first Lando wants to push him away. This is too far. Way too far. Lando is supposed to be furious. Han's lips, pink and perfect, aren't making Lando's job any easier. So, Lando presses a palm against Han's chest, ready to break the kiss.

Then he decides that...that maybe he doesn't want to.

So they keep kissing, and they manage to make it back to the Falcon, Lando in a drunk stupor, open and inviting. One thing leads to another, and, well...

His headache hasn't abated as yet. Han is still in his bed.

Lando manages to extract himself from Han's grasp without waking him, and feels unbelievably sick. Whether this is because he gambled away the one good thing he had going on in his life, whether he hate-fucked Han Solo, or because Lando ignored the rule that Vandorian rum was meant to be enjoyed in small quantities, is a mystery.

He slides off the bed and picks up his pants from the floor. Slipping them on, he heads for the showers. He doesn't want to look at Han right now, all warm and sleep-mussed, so he doesn’t. He tries to ignore the repercussions this whole one-night-stand might have. In the showers, he forces himself not to look at the hickeys that seem to be  _everywhere._

When he finishes a blistering cold shower, he towels himself dry and pads back to his bunk, carefully avoiding the guest quarters. He is extra careful when darting past the cockpit, where Elthree is running diagnostics, still awake. He'd rather not explain the dark bruises littering his chest and neck to her right now. 

The bed is devoid of Han when the doors to the captain's quarters slide open. Something tells him he won’t be able to go back to sleep, and that something might be his headache, which has morphed into a Rathtar trying to escape from the confines of his skull. Sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, Lando digs around in his closet for a fresh shirt, buttons it on – not caring particularly if the buttons go in the wrong buttonholes – and heads out again.

He wanders the Falcon listlessly, his insides squirming, and he finds his feet dragging him up, up, up to the main bridge, and then further up to the observation deck: a large section of paneled windows that gave you a great view of the vast nothingness around you. _Ah, yes,_ thinks Lando to himself.  _Nothing like a long gaze into the soulless, unblinking void of space to put things into perspective._

What would he do if he woke up one morning on a ship that  _wasn't_ the Falcon? It had been his home for years. One of the first big things he'd won in a sabacc tournament. Lando shakes his head, hands on the rails, chuckling at the memory. Poor, poor Cix Trouvee. Got into a little spat with the Hutts and the fucking Empire, and couldn't pay off his dues. He had given it the old college try, but in hindsight, entering a sabacc tournament to try and make some quick cash wasn't the smartest move. Especially a tournament against Lando. Unwittingly, Trouvee had bet the Falcon, and played right into Lando's hands. 

Of course, tonight, Lando had been Trouvee. Putting up the Falcon and being a cocky piece of shit. God, if Trouvee had felt nearly _half_ as bad when he had lost the Falcon the first time, then Lando could really sympathize with the guy. He tugs his fingers through his hair, huffing in frustration. Why did he have to get so damn overconfident? It's not like things work out for him in his life, ever. He should've just cut his losses and moved on. Now? He had nothing. Elthree would be all 'I _told_ you so!', while Han was grabbing the Wookie and making off with  _his_ ship. Lando should've just trusted his gut and never let the guy sit at his table in the first place. If he hadn't, the Falcon might still be his.

Fuck, he's going to miss this view. Stars swirling in elaborate, magnificent clusters, entombed by silence. The kind of silence that doesn't bring fear, but brings clarity. The galaxy isn't  _all_ black. There's purple, and blue, and yellow, and Lando hates that this ship isn't his anymore. He hates that he'll never be able to enjoy this again. He hates - 

"Funny, you know, I've never been up here."

Lando turns quickly at the sound.

It's Han, standing in the open doorway, dressed in his regular clothes and hair sticking up at odd angles. Lando frowns, then faces the glass, his back to Han. His fingers clench tightly around the rail.

"'S beautiful," Han adds, and Lando hears his boots make soft  _thump_ noises as they hit the floor, advancing in his direction. 

Suddenly there are warm, calloused palms resting lightly on Lando's hips. "How did you get here?" asks Lando, trying to sound disinterested and also trying not to fixate on the fact that Han's hands are moving steadily downwards.

"Elthree told me this was where you liked to sulk."

"I do not sulk."

"Sure," he scoffs slightly, and then, "I was wondering if you maybe wanted to talk. Y'know, about last night. Or this evening, since it isn't technically morning yet, but -"

Lando feels bile in his throat. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Come on, we both know that's not true."

"Alright, fine. What do you want to talk about?" Lando asks, twisting out of Han's hold and folding his own arms over his chest.

"This. You. Me. Us."

Lando blinks.  _Onetwothree._ "There is no 'us', Han," says Lando, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he turns to gauge Han's expression.

Han looks confused. "There isn't?" he asks.

"Yeah. I mean, we have separate things going on. You've got Qi'ra, I've...got..." Han raises an eyebrow. "Doesn't matter. The point is, it was just a moment of weakness. We had to blow off some steam, and now, we...we part ways."

"That's what you thought that was? Some kind of...of vent?"

"What did you think it was? Did you _really_ think you could relieve me of my ship and trick me into sleeping with you, and then expect us to have a normal, functional relationship?"

Han splutters. "I-no! Yes! I mean, I didn't _trick_ \- "

"That may be how things work where you came from, sport, but it sure as hell isn't how things are done where I was raised."

Han is silent.

Lando scrubs a hand over his face. "Can we please not do this right now? What do you want?"

"Well, we - that is, Tobias, Qi'ra, Chewie and I - need all the help we can get on Kessel, if we wanna make it out of there alive and up to our noses in coaxium. So..." Han waves his hands in a circle and prompts Lando to connect the dots himself.

"What makes you think I want to help _you?"_ Lando snaps, the residual anger still not fully faded. 

"For starters, you're on _my_ ship in the middle of space. There is _nowhere_ you could go, except for where I'm headed. Which is Kessel."

Lando glowers. "You do realize that that’s kidnapping? You're kidnapping me and holding me hostage. I'm not above climbing into an escape pod and jettisoning the hell out of here."

"I know. But I think you'd rethink that if...oh, say, _twenty percent_  of the cut were to float your way," Han shrugs, "after your cooperation, of course."

"Did you know that they have a word for that? It's called 'blackmail', and I'm not falling for it."

"Call it what you want. It's the only offer on the table, and besides, you're a gambler," Han says, clicking his tongue and winking, "I think you can tell when the odds are stacked against you."

Lando runs through it in his head. Twenty percent might be the ticket he needs for a clean slate and a new ship; a chance at redemption.

Is it worth it, though? He'd have to be in close proximity with a prick like Han Solo for who knows how long. And avoid talking about  _mushy things._ Why couldn't Han just drop the whole thing and pretend like it never happened?

Was the twenty percent even guaranteed?

He could always grab Elthree and make a run for it. Han didn't seem to oppose to the idea. Then again, he probably underestimated Lando's capabilities. People often did.

Either way, it was a hell of a risk.

"Plus," Han adds suddenly, leaning close to Lando's ear. "we'd need an experienced Captain to get us out of there," he breathes, and despite his best efforts, Lando's heart trips in his chest. He's only human, after all.

_Oh._

* * *

 

~earlier~

Han rolls off Lando four hours after that ill-fated tournament, gasping and grinning like a maniac. Lando stares up at the ceiling of his bunk aboard the Millennium Falcon, eyes wide. “That was…” he exhales heavily. “That was  _not_ how I pictured that going.”

Han frowns, palms on the mattress on either side of Lando’s head, using his arms to prop himself up over Lando’s body. “How you pictured what going?” he asks, and Lando puts his hands on Han’s hips, drawing lazy circles into the muscle of his lower back.

“Never mind, Han.” At some point, Lando’s brain had stopped calling him ‘Han Solo’, and just called him ‘Han’. No mispronunciation. No power moves. Just Han.

 _What am I doing?_   Lando asks the universe. As always, it remains silent.

Usually it’d take Lando more than a few rounds of drinks and sabacc to find himself with a stranger in his bed. Some may call him easy, but he has standards.

And yet, Han, who kept smiling at him from across the table; whose couldn't trash-talk a man if you paid him, and who seemed so adorably naïve, intrigued Lando.

Lando liked the way the other man would splay his cards on the table with an almost sympathetic look on his face, and the way he would constantly chastise Urwin Ungarten, who kept trying to sneak a glance at his cards. “Hey. Eyes on your own cards,” he’d say, using an index finger to gesture at Urwin’s face; tentacles with bulbous eyes on the end. “All of ’em.” Lando wasn’t kidding when he’d laughed and declared that he liked Han. He did like him. Han was…well, he was nice. Different than the sort of people Lando was accustomed to, but he’s not complaining. Mysterious, too, but come on, who doesn’t love that in a guy? Han’s fashion sense left something to be desired, however, but Lando had to give him credit for the thigh holster. He grudgingly admits that it works on Han.

Of course, something important had happened between them that had made Lando furious with Han, but right now he couldn’t remember what it was. It danced at the fringes of his memory, but surely nothing was as important as drawing those  _noises_ out of Han that made shivers run down Lando's spine?

Han rolls his eyes and crooks his elbows, so that his chin drops down to Lando’s neck. Lando moans softly as Han leaves a long trail of kisses, working his way down to the collarbone. “Round two already, flyboy?” Lando manages to ask incredulously, fingers curling around Han’s upper arm despite himself.

“Don't say anything. You'll ruin it," he mumbles against Lando's skin.

In one smooth movement, Lando uses the hand clenched around Han’s bicep to pull him onto his back, at the same time using the momentum to push himself on top of Han. "I don't like your tone, young man. I'm gonna have to reprimand you," Lando growls, grinning devilishly.

Han looks up at him through dark eyelashes and hooded eyes. "You're right. Don't want the others to think it's okay to talk to...the  _Captain_ like that."

* * *

 

Shit.

Lando was so  _fucked._

He does his best not to betray his thoughts on his face. Sabacc and the streets of Socorro taught him well.

“Okay, okay. I’ll do it.” Han gives him a blinding grin and holds out a hand for Lando to shake. Lando takes it, scowling. “You’re one sly bastard, Han Solo,” he mutters.

“I prefer the term: professional,” he shoots back, and saunters off the observation deck with his 'is-it-a-limp-or-is-it-swagger' walk. It looks more like a strut, now that Lando looks carefully, and he wonders if Han's regular walk is a strut.  _Guess I'll have to find out._

Lando can’t help but be impressed. Nor can he help checking out the curve of Han’s ass in those pants. He’d been wrong about them, earlier. Wrinkled or not, khakis could do wonders if they were tight enough.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Summary of OCs:  
> Urwin Ungarten is an unnamed dude who thinks he's so fuckin cool by looking at my boi han's cards. He was in the movie, not the clip.
> 
> also we see through ur act, Lando, my buddy


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a fuel run turns out to be so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,,,,,heres the thing,,,,,,,,i kinda fucked up a lil bit
> 
> for continuity purposes (and the purpose of basic common sense), the third chapter has been replaced......by this one. i just kinda felt like lando wasn't being very in-character, so that chapter might show up later,,,,idk, but for now, presenting, the aLL-NEW AND COMPLETELY REWRITTEN,,,,,,,,,,CHAPTER 3!!

The first time that they kiss without planning it, and without it being followed by meaningless sex, is entirely Han’s fault.

To provide context, it had been over a week since they slept together that first time. They’ve slept together thrice since then; Han crawling under Lando’s covers when he was sure everyone else was asleep and disappearing before morning, or the other way around. They never mentioned it, never spoke about it, and Lando thought things might finally be getting good for him. He had his unbroken winning streak in sabacc. Was guaranteed a _lot_ of money on completing this job that didn’t seem all that difficult. And a guy, with whom he could have sex with, minus the strings and intricacies of a functioning relationship.

Yep.

Lando Calrissian had it _made._

Of course, the only place it could go from here was downhill.

They had stopped on a little planet on the brink of the Outer Rim System called Yiv La’ar. Their group had elected to split up: Qi’ra and Beckett teamed up to find supplies, while Lando, Han, and Chewbacca were given the task of tackling fuel. Elthree was supposed to go with Qi’ra and Beckett, but had decided to stay on the Falcon in case things went awry and they needed to hightail it. Lando personally felt like she couldn’t care less about their dealings, and had stayed onboard for lack of anything better to do.

Han, though, had been uneasy letting Qi’ra go off on her own, and had voiced his doubts as such. “I survived alone for three years, Han. I think I can manage a couple of hours without you,” she says, and Lando knows it was intended to be funny, but Han rolls off the back of that conversation looking stricken.

With that, they part ways.

If there was a planet somewhere in-between Corellia and Alderaan, aesthetic-wise, it would probably be Yiv La’ar. It is literally as though someone tore two chunks from each of those two planets and slapped them together to create the rock under Lando’s boots.

On Lando’s left, there are thickly populated slums and ramshackle houses, with children huddled in the doorways and playing some kind of game with small stones. And on his right, are a large cluster of smoothly sculpted buildings that rise tall and bone-white into the sky. It is way past sunset, but there are no stars. The air is stale, even out here in the open, and people in long coats shuffle past, eyes low. Lando feels Han press closer to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Chewbacca readjust the strap of his blaster.

“Scared, Solo?” asks Lando.

“What? Me?  _Scared?”_ Han scoffs. “Please. If anything,  _you’re_ scared.”

“Oh,  _okay_ , Han. Sure,” Lando says sarcastically.

Han punches his shoulder lightly. “Go to hell, Calrissian.”

Lando elbows him back.  “I would, but you’re marvelously easy to fluster. I’d be bored _._ ” As if to prove his point, there’s a loud yell from one of the gambling rooms that Lando had been desperate to enter, and Han startles.

“Aww, afwraid of the wowd noises, are we? Does widdle Han Sowo wanna go back to the ship?” he coos mockingly. Han is about to retort something sharp, but Chewbacca growls.

_“Would it be at all possible for you two to stop talking for ten minutes?”_

At least, that’s what Lando  _thinks_  he said. His Shyriiwook is a touch rusty; it’s been awhile since he’s been on Kashyyyk. Hopefully he can pick it up again if he hangs around Chewie long enough.

Han and Lando fall silent without protest. No need to draw unnecessary attention to themselves.

Lando’s eyes scan their surroundings. He’s looking for a cantina, a bar – anything. He knows for a fact that he can charm someone into divulging some information about a fuel bunker if he has a few drinks in him.

A sign blinks  _Ferhyy’s Tavern_ up ahead, and Lando leads them towards it. ‘Tavern’ is probably one of his favorite words.

Inside, the place is dimly lit and bulging with people. A circular bar is the center of attraction. Music plays loud and rumbling, and it drowns out conversation. There are so many eyes following him. Lando is suddenly, horribly self-aware of the bright green of his shirt. Usually, he wouldn’t give it a second thought, but he doesn’t need this kind of attention right now. He pushes the unease aside and turns to Han and Chewie.

“Hey, do me a favor and find a table. When you do, don’t leave it. Don’t talk to anybody; don’t  _look_ at anybody; don’t even breathe in someone’s direction. Got it?” Lando asks, in a tone worthy of an officer in the Imperial Army, and starts to head off. Han grabs his arm quickly, spinning him back around.

“Woah, wait a second. Where are you going?”

“I’ll see if I can…ah,  _do_ something about our…fuel situation.”

“Yeah? Can I ask what you’re planning on doing?”

Lando taps Han’s nose with his finger. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Don’t miss me too much, baby,” he grins.

“I’ll try,” Han says dryly, rolling his eyes. It isn’t long before he disappears into the crowd. Chewbacca, big and carpet-esque as he is, manages to vanish behind him, too.

Lando, left to his own devices, slides into an empty seat at the bar. He signals for the bartender, a purple Twi’lek woman with pierced lekku, and her bright yellow eyes linger on him for an agonizing moment before she strolls to him.

“What can I get you?” she asks, eyes hooded.

“Well, what’s good?”

“I’m told the ruby bliel is  _divine,_ ” the Twi’lek drawls, chin resting on her hands, elbows propped on the tabletop.

Something that feels like his old swagger seems to supercharge him, and he grins and tilts his head coyly.

“Really? Surely that can’t be the only  _divine_ thing here,” he replies in a low voice, eyes traipsing over her figure suggestively. She looks pleased.

_Okay. She’s rising to the bait. Time for phase two._

Suddenly, Lando pulls away, hands up apologetically. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I thought I could…but I can’t. I have to go. It was nice to meet you,” he says quickly, and slips off the barstool. His whole plan to get fuel for the trip hinged on this Twi’lek stopping him from leaving.  _Come on, come **on…**_

“Wait!”

Lando stops and allows himself a small smirk, before turning on his heel slowly. His eyebrows are raised in question. Concern unfurls across the bartender’s face. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

Lando shakes his head, feigning inner turmoil by scrubbing a hand over his face. “’S nothing. I’m making way too big a deal out of this."

She tilts her head, smiling gently. "That's all right. You can tell me," she says.

He wrings his hands. "Pfassk, this is tough,” he mutters, inhaling through his mouth. “Okay. Um, just got dumped by my girlfriend,” he says, adding a tremble to his voice, “and I thought...I figured if I came down here, I could drink a little bit, maybe try and forget her; meet someone new, I dunno.” Something in the Twi’lek’s eyes sparkles.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

Lando forces his shoulders into a slump. Hopefully he won’t have to slump for long because his posture could get seriously messed up. “I’m being crazy, aren’t I?” he laughs mirthlessly, walking back to the bar and running his hands through his hair.

She smiles broadly. “Sometimes crazy is a good thing,” she says languidly, touching his arm.

His rhythm feels like it’s coming back to him, and it feels good and familiar, especially after that confusing puddle Han had managed to leave him in.  _It’s just a crush. It’ll pass. You’re only so hot and bothered by him because you slept together. Stop overthinking it,_ Lando chides himself, breathing deeply.  _You got this._

He offers a weak smile in return. “Can we start over?” he asks. She smiles again. “Word on the street is, the ruby bliel here is to  _die_ for,” says Lando, and the Twi’lek laughs.

“The word on the street is right.”

“Excellent. Would you mind bringing me as many as a man needs to help him forget?”

She laughs again. “I’ll see what I can do, Mister…?”

“Joost. Teph Joost.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Joost, Teph Joost.”

She wanders off to bring him the drink, and Lando's eyes look for Han and Chewie. He spots them huddled into a booth in the far back, murmuring to each other. After briefly staring at the side of Han's head, the other man catches Lando's gaze. His eyebrows flick upwards.  _How's it going?_ he mouths.

Lando winks.  _Never better,_ he replies.

* * *

 

"What brings you to Yiv La'ar, Teph?" asks the Twi'lek, whom Lando later discovers is named Celoena. She smacks her lips and puts down her glass. Someone else is covering her shift. Finally,  _finally_ the topic of conversation swings onto the path Lando had been desperately trying to steer it to, after almost three years of Celoena talking about her absurdly large family back on Ryloth (okay, it wasn’t _three years,_ but you get the idea.) Lando had been just about ready to give up and move on. Thankfully, he didn't have to.

"Business. I'm transporting some cargo to an Outer Rim Territory. It's all very hush-hush," answers Lando, and Celoena's eyebrows quirk. "I brought Verja with me. This evening, she asked if we could stop for the night here, and while my back was turned - metaphorically of course - she took everything. She took all of it, she spat in my face, and left on a freighter headed who-knows-where." He gives a long-suffering sigh.

"That's awful," says Celoena, lilac fingers curling around his wrist, and for a second Lando feels slightly guilty that he has to con this woman. Then he thinks of Dryden Vos and Crimson Dawn, and an angry Qi'ra, and flexes his fingers under the table. His guilt dissipates.

Lando shrugs. "What can you do?" he chuckles dryly, draining his glass. "The problem now is for me to make it to my destination and deliver what remaining cargo I've got."

Celoena frowns. "What's the problem? It seems simple enough."

"She took all my fuel. Said she planned to sell it. Without it, I'm going to be stuck here."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" asks Celoena, sliding a hand over his thigh. Lando panics for a second. This was not how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to take pity on him and offer to give him some fuel.  _Think, Lando, think!_

"As much I would love to," he drawls, demeanor unchanged as he puts his own hand on Celoena's knee, "my client would be outraged." Celoena pouts with dark lips and Lando tries not to be distracted by them. Even though he's working, he can't help but notice that she'sa very beautiful woman. Like, come on. Lando isn't  _blind_.

Lando sighs. "All right. I'll let you in on a little secret. He leans towards her conspiratorially, voice dropping. "My client is the leader of a large and very dangerous crime cartel. I can't say who, because your life would be in danger, and I wouldn't want to hurt a face as pretty as this," he whispers, the fingers of his free hand tracing her sharp cheekbones. She visibly shudders. "Even if a little portion of what my client ordered got to him safely, I know he'd pay me well, because what I'm transporting is a high-value commodity. Verja, well, my client can do to her as he seems fit. Now  _you,_ " he breathes, and her eyes are wide, "can help  _me_. If you can get me some fuel, I promise I'll split the profits with you. Fifty-fifty."

Celoena ponders this for a minute. "Fifty-fifty?" she echoes. Lando nods.

"Fifty-fifty," he confirms.

She purses her lips, deep in thought. Then, she bites her lower lip. "I think I can help with that," she says.

* * *

 

Having secured enough fuel for a trip to Dagobah - situated on the other side of the galaxy; compared to that, Kessel was a podrace - and back, Lando kisses Celoena goodnight. It's quick and small, and Celoena squeezes his wrist, pulling away not thirty seconds since it began. She walks back to  _Ferhyy's,_ entering the bar through a back door she had first led him out of, and Lando feels a little bit of that guilt ebbing back. His pockets, once jangling with credits, are now slightly lighter, and normally that would worry him, but Lando knows if it weren't for Celoena, he would've had to give all his money to cover the cost.

He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders.  _Time to go._

He lingers outside for a little bit. The lot behind  _Ferhyy's_ is empty and lifeless, save for a cartload of fuel barrels that Lando has to somehow figure out how to drag back to the Falcon without being noticed. He pushes the cart behind a grove of shrubby trees and hopes that the cover of night and the lack of illumination will hide the barrels from thieves.

 _Ironic, how the only thing a thief is afraid of, is another thief._ Lando chuckles to himself as he muses this thought. His clothes have acquired small tears and rips due to the brambles that he hadn't taken into account, as well as a few stains from the residual oil on the top of the barrels. He looks as much like a local as he possibly can, but he streaks dirt onto his shirt and face (with much grimacing) for good measure before he enters the bar.

Nobody gives him a second look this time around; he looks as scruffy and as worn-down as the rest of them. This does wonders for the tension that has worked itself into Lando’s bones. He beelines for the booth he had seen Han and Chewie in earlier, but it’s difficult now, because of the writhing mass of people that press against him and suffocate him from all sides.

When he finally manages to push past the crowd towards the booth, it’s empty. Lando frowns. Where could they have gone? Worry begins to strangle him.

He spends the next infinitesimal amount of time being practically digested by the hoard of people clumped together on what he realizes is the dance floor, as they shuffle awkwardly to the beat while Lando searches for Chewie and the Liability. He doesn’t dare call their names out loud. Who knows who could be listening? Frankly, he’d rather not risk it.

The crowd spits him back out into the open, this time at the main entrance, and he stumbles. Hands on his knees, he gasps in large lungfuls of the air that isn’t much better than the air inside, but is (blissfully) less sweat-tinged.

“Lando?” asks a familiar voice. Lando glances up. Sprawled out against the side of a house that has definitely seen better days is Han and Chewbacca. Lando’s eyes take a second to adjust to the gloom settled over their faces, and he notices that Han’s left eye is bruised and swollen, and his lip is cut. Chewie has what appears to be the scope and the barrel of a blaster in each hand. “What happened to your shirt?” asks Han incredulously.

“Mother of kwath, Han! What happened to _you?”_ He hurries towards them.

 _“I told him it was a bad idea. He didn’t listen to me,”_ says Chewbacca helpfully. Turns out, understanding Shyriiwook is just like riding a Taun-Taun: once you learn, you can never un-learn it.

“Shut up, Chewie,” grumbles Han as he struggles to his feet. Chewie offers to help him up, but Han waves the gesture away. Lando is about to put an arm around Han’s shoulder to support some of his weight, but pauses. Annoyance settles into the pit of his stomach, and he folds his arms across his chest and glowers.

“Explain yourself.”

Han grins sheepishly. “Well, we were doing what you told us. The whole ‘don’t-talk-don’t-look-don’t-breathe’ thing. And it was fine, but then there was this drunk guy, and he was makin’ fun of Chewie. You should’a heard the crap that came from his mouth. Chewie told me to drop it, but I went an’ socked the guy right in the kisser.” Han holds up his right hand and displays purpling knuckles as evidence.

“He went down quick, and I thought that was that, but then he had some friends with him. When I say some, I mean a _lot_. They were pretty big guys. Like…like, _huge,_ ” says Han, splaying his arms wide to demonstrate ‘huge’.

“So…I got a little, uh, outnumbered. Just when Chewie stepped in, they took my blaster and snapped it. Then some two-headed beetle-guy threw us out. And we’ve been sitting here, waiting for you, ever since. The end.”

Lando takes a few deep breaths, before yelling, “I leave you alone for _fifteen minutes._ Fifteen!”

“Thirty,” Han mumbles.

“Well, it _would’ve_ been fifteen if I hadn’t spent all that time looking for you inside!”

“How was I supposed to know you’d been looking for us? You never even told us where you were going! One minute you were at the bar, and the next, you were gone!”

Lando groans in frustration, tugging at his hair. “You could’ve botched the whole thing!”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but, Lando,” his voice is pleading, “you can’t expect me to-to just _sit_ there while that bantha tick was taking jabs at…at my friend.”

Chewbacca blinks. _“Thank you,”_ he says, putting a paw over his heart. _“I’m touched.”_ Han rolls his eyes.

“Where was this gratitude when I was getting my face mashed in?”

_“I saved your blaster, so you’re welcome.”_

“It’s in two pieces!”

_“There would’ve been no pieces if I hadn’t brought it back. Again, you’re welcome.”_

 “And you still haven’t answered _my_ question,” says Han, voice softer, directing the statement to Lando.

“What question?” he snaps.

“What happened to your shirt?”

Lando pauses and glances down at his clothes. _Oh. Right._

He sighs. “Long story short: I got us fuel. It’s in the back.” Han’s expression neutralizes, then he gives a low whistle.

“I’m impressed.”

“Of course you are. I’m _me,_ ” scoffs Lando, and Han flips him off, laughing. Then the laughter morphs into a cough. Several coughs. He cups his hand over his mouth and when he removes it after a few hacking, wheezing seconds, it’s streaked red. He grimaces and wipes it off on his trousers.

“Oh, boy. That’s not good,” chuckles Han weakly. He’s paler now, notices Lando with a frown. It seems to take a lot of effort out of him to simply keep himself upright. He’s leaning heavily into the wall of the house behind him; his body sags against it.

“Wait, wait a second,” says Lando, tugging the sleeve Han’s jacket. Han bites his lip, frowning.

“What’re you doing?”

“Just…take off your jacket,” mutters Lando, and Han obliges, nonplussed, draping the jacket over one arm. The look in his eyes says it all. _Not the usual circumstances where you’d ask me to take off my jacket, huh?_

Lando touches the left side of Han’s chest carefully. His moves his fingers lower and lower, and stops just over his abdomen. Han’s brow is furrowed, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Lando shushes him. He repeats this motion on Han’s right, but this time ‘round, Han winces a little when Lando reaches a specific area. He’s made himself familiar with Han’s body without meaning to, and he knows when something feels off. This part of his chest, _right here,_ feels different. Lando purses his lips, and digs his fingertips into Han’s side, and Han hisses through his teeth, doubling over.

“What the kriff are you _doing?”_  yells Han.

“You’ve cracked a rib.”

“I realize that, thanks.”

“We need to get you to the medbay. Fast.”

“Oh look, Admiral Obvious saves the day again.”

“Shut up.” Lando turns to Chewie. “D’you think you could help Han?”

_“How?”_

“I dunno, lift him, or something.”

Chewie gives him a half-smirk. _“Lifting Han is easy. It’s like holding a salamander stick.”_

Han makes an indignant noise. “You have lifted me all of _none_ times,” he says matter-of-factly, but Lando ignores him. He also ignores the helpful memory that his brain supplies of when he had grabbed Han’s thighs and lifted him clear off the floor; the latter’s legs twisting around Lando’s waist. He blinks his way out of that particular mental sarlacc pit.

“Okay, great. Meet me in the lot behind the bar. I’ll bring the kegs, you bring Han,” he says.

Lando is about to return to the bar, when Chewie stops him. _“Wouldn’t it be easier if **I** brought the fuel and **you** came with Han?”_

Lando bites his lip and thinks for a second, before sighing. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Okay,” he nods. “There’s a big bush-type-thing at the far end of the lot. I hid the cart there.”

 _“I’ll meet you and Han at the Falcon,”_ Chewie says.

“What? Why?” asks Han, a worried edge to his voice.

_“Do you know how suspicious two humans and a Wookiee look dragging around a cartload of freighter fuel?”_

“I mean, yeah, but -”

“Wouldn’t _one_ Wookiee dragging around a cartload of freighter fuel look even more suspicious?” interrupts Lando, and Han points to him and nods frantically.

 _“You’d be surprised what they use Wookiees for down here,”_ says Chewbacca dryly, and that is enough to shut both Han and Lando up.

Chewbacca lopes off into the darkness, having given Han his holster (to avoid unnecessary questions) as well as the blaster pieces. Han and Lando watch his retreating figure skim around the side of the building and disappear behind it.

Han inhales deeply. “Let’s go,” he mumbles finally, and allows Lando to slide an arm around his hips. Lando is careful not to accidentally hit the injured area while he throws the jacket over Han’s shoulders. Han grimaces, all the same, and most of his weight rests on Lando; one limps and the other drags them both, down the street and back to the Falcon.

They shuffle along in silence, and they have to pause every now and then for Han to catch his breath. It’s agonizingly slow, and Lando finds his eyes darting across his shoulder even when the wind shifts.

“So…” begins Han quietly. Lando hums in reply. “That was…pretty cool, what you did back there. To get us fuel, I mean.”

Lando shrugs, but only a little, so that he doesn’t jostle Han. “It’s what I do.”

They lapse into silence again. _Was the walk this far last time?_ wonders Lando to himself.

“Can I ask you something?” says Han, and Lando knows that something is bothering him.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“When you found me and Chewie out –”

“Chewie and _I_ ,” corrects Lando, and Han rolls his eyes.

“When you found _me and Chewie_ outside the bar, why d’you freak out?”

Lando ponders his answer carefully. He _wants_ to say: “I was worried about you” but he doesn’t. _That_ is a whole other can of brainworms that he’d rather not open right now. So, instead, he says, “I knew if I showed up at the Falcon with you looking like a…well, like _that,_ ” he uses his free hand to gesture to Han’s face, “Qi’ra would probably have my head.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure about that.”

Lando gives him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

Han sighs a world-weary sigh. “To be honest…I’m not sure how things are…between me and her.” Lando wants to correct his grammar, but decides against it. _Pick your battles._

“We used to have something, y’know? I…I don’t know what you’d call us, but now? It’s like we’re…well, strangers.” Another exhausted sigh. “I guess all that time apart, and she never really wanted to hold on to it. Kriff knows I tried to.

“We’re just…in different places. In our lives, so to speak. She thinks I’m that same kid who ran away from Corellia, but I’m not. One thing’s for sure, though,” Han laughs humorlessly, “she is _not_ the same girl I left behind.”

Lando listens. That’s all he can do. If he’s being honest, he probably isn’t the _best_ person to be talking about Han’s relationship with someone who is _not him_ , but maybe that’s what a friends-with-benefits deal is supposed to be like. He and Han are friends, so they should act as such. If Han has a problem he wants to discuss with Lando, then he can go ahead and do it, without having to worry about Lando’s _feelings_ or whatever. Their dynamic doesn’t need to change if they go down on each other a couple times, should it? After all, they are friends first. That’s why it’s called _friends_ -with-benefits. The ‘benefits’ are supplementary to the main thing: the friendship.

After deliberating all of this, he comes to the conclusion that he should be ready to hear Han whine about his…about Qi’ra without feeling upset or jealous, because that’s not what their relationship is like. If, after all of this, he knows what to do…then why does he still feel a little freaked out by how much he _does not_ want to talk about Han and Qi’ra; how much he’s opposed to the very notion of _HanandQi’ra_.

And then…he realizes that if he doesn’t talk, then that means he wants to acknowledge some-some _things_ that he feels/might be feeling. Han-wise. That is something he does not want to do even _more._

His head starts to hurt a little bit after all of this.

Han eyes him. “This is the part where you say something to make me feel better,” he prompts, and Lando is silent for a few more moments, before hazarding an attempt.

“That’s life, I suppose.”

Han blinks. “‘That’s life’? _That’s_ your advice?”

Lando huffs. “You get my point. Talk to her. Reel her back in.”

“You’re really awful at this. Do you know that? You absolutely suck at imparting wisdom.”

“I know, because first of all, my wisdom is so vast that it just can’t be imparted, and secondly, I compensate by being fantastic at _other_ things.” Lando winks suggestively.

“Well, I can vouch for that.”

Lando looks at Han, disbelieving. Han, realizing what he said, pales. “I meant at Corellian Spike,” he adds, none too hastily.

“ _No,_ ” says Lando suddenly in a singsong voice. “You meant I’m fantastic at _sex_.”

“I did not!” Han protests.

“Aw, look at that, you’re blushing already!”

Han glares and turns even redder. “I am _not_ blushing! And I never said you were fantastic at sex. I literally _just_ told you it was about Corellian Spike.”

“Oh, come on, baby. The innuendo was _right there._ I winked and everything!”

“So what?”

“The ‘what’, is that I’m so _good_ at sex, that it’s been less than fourteen _hours_ since the last time, and you’re _still_ thinking about it.”

Han stops, surely not for lack of air. “…you kept count?”

Lando presses his lips into a line. “It was an estimate,” he says simply.

Han, miraculously, doesn’t pick at it. Then, “For the record, you are pretty good. At…at sex.”

Lando beams. “Glad to have positive feedback,” he says, and Han laughs a little bit. The lull in the conversation is lighter. Lando feels good. By being a _friend_ first and a benefactor second, he was sticking to the letter of the law. _Is this what it feels like to be a taxpayer?_ he muses.

“Now that we’ve got the awkward stuff out of the way…” begins Han, and Lando wants to groan. He vaguely recalls Han getting him to shut up a few days ago by saying something along the lines of _Don’t talk; you’ll ruin it,_ and he wonders idly if _he_ can get away with it, tonight. “Tell me why you _really_ got freaked out earlier,” he asks, starting to walk again, Lando at his side.

“What I told you _was_ the real thing,” replies Lando. Han hops on his bad leg for a second and kicks Lando in the shin with his good leg, before resuming his limp. “Hey! Ow!”

“For a guy who can play a mean round of sabacc, your face is _awfully_ easy to read. I know you’re lying. Now, _tell me,_ ” he presses.

It’s Lando’s turn to heave a tired sigh. Lots of sighing on Yiv La’ar tonight.

“Fine,” says Lando. “I was…well, I was worried about you,” he mumbles under his breath. Han, apparently, didn’t hear it, and raises his eyebrows.

“Play that back for me, chief?”

Lando actually does groan this time. When he speaks, his voice is louder, though not any less uncertain. “I was _worried_ about you, okay? You happy?” Then, he mutters to himself, “Pfassk. Look at that. Can’s open; brainworms _everywhere._ ”

Something warm fills him up on the inside, when Han gives him a small smile.

“Thank you. For, y’know, worrying about me. Makes me feel special.” Lando scoffs.

“Good to know that you get your kicks from my high blood pressure.”

Han hip-checks him with his uninjured side. “I’m serious,” he insists.

“You’re loopy from cranial damage, is what you are.”

“It’s been a…a long time since somebody worried about me -”

“Son of a bantha, I wonder _why -_ ”

“- and…and if I’m being honest…I was kinda worried about you, too.”

Lando blanks. “You-you were?” Han nods, drawing his lower lip into his mouth, in a way that does _not_ make Lando’s brain stop functioning.

“I didn’t know where you were. I-I didn’t know if you were coming back. The mind tends…to wander.”

Lando knows better than to tease, this time. It is so quiet. Quiet inside Lando; quiet around Lando. If he listens hard enough, he can almost hear Han’s breathing, and underneath that, Han’s heart hammering away inside his chest. He knows what to say before he says it. Almost like the entire universe had lead him to this very moment. He licks his lips.

“I’ll always come back,” he says, low enough for only Han to hear; loud enough that he knows he isn’t imagining the words that spill from him. “I’ll _always_ come back,” he echoes, harder this time; truer. The ‘for you’ at the end of the statement is unspoken, but not unheard.

Han stares at Lando for a long time before he kisses him.

This time, it feels…different. There’s something new. Something that, quite frankly, scares Lando senseless. He can feel whatever it is dragging him away. Can feel panic and fear churning inside him. Han’s teeth clack against his own, reminding him to stay. _I’ll always come back._ Lando had meant it, too. It scared him how much he meant it.

He tears his focus away from the things clouding his mind, and anchors that focus instead to Han. He focuses on Han’s mouth against his; how Han grips the front of Lando’s shirt with one hand, and cups Lando’s jaw with the other; how this is how all kisses should be; _need to be_. How Han tastes faintly like copper wires and of cheap beer, and how Lando wants to memorize the tiny gasp Han makes when Lando kisses back.

Lando focuses on Han’s body against his: real and warm and…and kind of heavy, but that’s okay. Lando braces them both with his foot pressing into the ground and one hand on the small of Han’s back. He focuses on Han. Han. _Han_. His pulse is a parsec a minute.

Han shifts forward, but hisses, pulling away. He clutches his side and winces. “Are you okay?” asks Lando, concern arching his brows.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Han waves his hand dismissively. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure? I –”

“I said I’m _fine,_ Lando,” says Han through gritted teeth. Lando frowns a little. _Where did **that** come from?  _ "Please don't bring this up again." Instinctively, Lando knows that 'this' isn't Han's injury. It's the fact that they kissed tonight, and that it meant something. Something new and complicated. And Han didn't want it. All it is now is the result of a momentary lapse in judgement.

“All right. We should, uh…we should probably get going,” says Lando in a small, confused voice. Han nods vacantly.

They walk in total silence. It’s heavier than Lando last remembered it. He can feel the weight of it; of Han; of the whole galaxy, sinking onto his shoulders. Lando hopes that Han will break the tension that seems to have materialized out of nowhere.

He doesn’t.

Lando has never been more upset to see the Falcon up ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is what its like to "get carried away" somebody teach me the meaning of restraint
> 
> also aLSO WHAT ARE YOU GUYS' THOUGHTS ON CELOENA (in case anyone want phonetics, it's seh-LOH-EE-nah)  
> I WANTED TO MAKE HER LESS EASY TO CON (i mean no offense celoena im sorry) BUT THAT WOULD TAKE AWAY FROM THE AWESOMENESS OF LANDO, AND THAT BOY DESERVED SO MUCH MORE THAN HE GOT, SO HERE WE ARE TODAY!! P.S. you're not fooling aNyBoDy with that 'teph joost' (teff yoost) bantha shit. also who tf is verja (verya) and why she such a hoe? "go big or go home," he said.  
> ALSO FUN FACT: YIV LA'AR IS AN OC PLANET  
> HOW FUCKIN WILD  
> WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE (i'm sorry i'm just excited i've got this MONSTROUS FUCKING CHAPTER out of the way)  
> peace and love to everyone who left comments and kudos!! you guys are the real heroes tbh


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things start to get...complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters??? in two days WHAT?????  
> this is chapter 3 version 1, and I told u guys it was coming so HERE IT IS, RE-PURPOSED AS CHAPTER 4 WOOT WOOT  
> thank you so SO MUCH TO EVERYONE LEFT COMMENTS AND KUDOS, I LOVE YOU ALL <333

“All in,” Lando hums, pursing his lips.

“Don’t get too cocky there, kid,” says Beckett, clicking his tongue and chuckling. Lando offers him a pleasant smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he replies.

Beckett raises an eyebrow. He carefully places his cards on the table, the corner of his lip upturned. “I believe  _this_ is the winning hand,” smirks Beckett proudly. “Thank you for your time, and your alcohol,” he says, winking and hands already reaching for the bottles of Alderaanean whiskey that they had decided to gamble upon. Two were Beckett’s, two were Lando’s. It seemed like a fair price.

 Lando sighs and shrugs. “You’re right, Beckett. That is a  _great_  hand.” Beckett glances up at him, eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. His fingers hover over the necks of the dark bottles.

Then, Lando flicks his wrist and his cards fan across the table, and Beckett’s jaw unhinges. Lando, still smiling, folds his arms on the tabletop and leans forward in his seat. “Although I’m inclined to believe that an Idiot’s Array is slightly better than that.” He tilts his head coyly. “Isn’t it?”

Beckett curses loudly and colorfully as Lando rises and gathers up the bottles to himself. “I think there’s a lesson to be learned here,” Lando says, patting Beckett on the shoulder. Beckett swats away his hand.

“No need to be a sore winner, Calrissian.”

Lando cracks open one of Beckett’s bottles and takes a long swig. “This is good stuff,” he declares, and Beckett glowers. “Want some? Maybe it’ll ease the pain for when the pieces of your shattered pride dig into your heart.”

“You know what? Sure, I’ll take a bottle, so I can  _shove it up your_  -”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” says Elthree’s disgruntled voice.

“No need to kinkshame, El. A man likes what a man likes,” Lando shrugs, dropping heavily onto the couch. Beckett rubs his temples. “What’s up?”

“Well, because I’m extremely independent and not, in any way, subservient to you all,” she begins pointedly as Lando rolls his eyes, “my navigation systems are practically flawless. However, I do require someone else to be present in the cockpit while I do my…my thing. Obviously,” she adds.

“Obviously,” agrees Lando, not without a touch of sarcasm. “So, what you’re saying is, you want me to pilot – because my dazzling talent is not limited to cards,  _Beckett_  – while you ‘do your thing’? No problem, let me just get my -”

Elthree holds up a hand and gives him an  _are-you-fucking-kidding-me_ look, which is something she’s mastered. It’s amazing, because she’s a droid and therefore has no muscles to convey such expressions, but after all the time they’ve spent together, Lando has come to recognize this particular glare.

“No. I refuse to be associated with you. I need somebody to find Han and get him to pilot.”

Lando stares, wide-eyed. “You’re…you’re choosing that  _scrumrat_ over  _me?”_  he splutters in disbelief.

“Woah, there. No need to kinkshame, Lando,” Beckett says suddenly. Lando gives him a look of confusion.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“Doesn’t have to. Your droid -”

“I am not  _his_ droid,” interjects Elthree.

 

“-right. Your droid  _friend,_ ” corrects Beckett, and Elthree nods her approval, “chose that two-bit, bottom-rung Corellian Taun-Taun over you. Now, what does that make you?”

Lando grits his teeth.

Beckett smiles. “I think there’s a lesson to be learned here,” he muses, leaning back in his seat. Lando turns to Elthree.

“May I ask why?”

“You gambled away our ship.”

“Right, right. Of course.” Then, he mumbles, “We’re still  _on_  the ship; I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

Elthree throws her hands up in the air in frustration. “Can you just find Han, please?”

Lando groans and shuffles off to the guest quarters. One quick look around the room tells him it’s empty. In the same vein, the showers, the bridge, and the dining galley are all devoid of Han. Lando frowns.  _Where are you?_

Suddenly, Lando wonders if Han is on the observation deck. If he’s up there, Lando decides that he’ll send Han down and stay there himself. Maybe read a book, or practice his card shuffle. He sets off to the captain’s quarters to grab his things. Qi’ra had been nice enough to talk the others into allowing Lando to keep his quarters until they finished the job, at which point Lando would have to find another ship. He felt queasy at the mere thought. There were a lot of things making him queasy, and that questionable-looking protein pack he’d scarfed down earlier wasn’t doing him any favors.

The doors to his quarters slide open smoothly, and Lando finds everything in perfect order. He strides to his bunk to grab a newspaper that he’d picked up over five years ago on Alderaan. He’s practically memorized every article in there, and outdated is not the word to describe it, but he still reads it as though he’s doing so for the first time. He turns to go. Just then, his eyes catch a small shift of movement, and he notices that that the door to his armoire is open. Frown deepening, he walks softly towards it, and then his heart plummets. He drops the newspaper.

“Am I interrupting something?” he manages to sound slightly amused.

Qi’ra pulls away from Han hastily. Han, almost buried in the rack of capes, sighs, sinking into the materials and shoulders sagging. “Kinda,” he mutters irritably, and Qi’ra, cheeks flushed, slaps his shoulder, hissing for him to be quiet.

Lando arranges his features into grin, but it doesn’t feel genuine enough. The tension and the silence is thick enough for a lightsaber to cut through. The protein pack fights to leave his stomach.

“Elthree asked me to ask you to pilot,” he tells Han, praying that his voice won’t crack or anything. He doesn’t make eye contact with either of them.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“How come you’re not piloting?”

Lando shrugs nonchalantly, but the effort it takes to appear nonchalant might give him a stroke, or cause him to implode. Whichever comes first.

“It ain’t my ship anymore,” he answers simply, and he forces his eyes to meet Han’s.

Something flickers across Han’s face, but it’s gone as soon as it came. Han turns to Qi’ra. “Wanna watch me walk the walk?” She giggles and rolls her eyes. Must be some sort of inside joke that Lando isn’t in on.

That doesn’t bother him.

Nope.

Lando steps aside for Han and Qi’ra to bustle out of his closet. They mumble a half-hearted apology and quickly slip out of the captain’s quarters, fingers entwined and eyes sparkling. When the doors slide shut, Lando sinks to his knees. He’s so  _numb._

 

He ignores the fact that Han’s lips were bright red and swollen, and tries to tell himself that it’s just because Qi’ra likes wearing dark lipstick. His brain fills with sharp images of Han’s lips being that exact color when Lando kissed him that night on Yiv La’ar, and he’s never felt the emptiness he’s feeling right now. He wants to scream.

 

 _Qi’ra had him first,_  something reminds him.

 

There is sudden anger, flaring up inside him and directed at Qi’ra. He hates how she gets to touch and hold and kiss, and he can’t. He hates it. He hates that he’s so  _bothered_ by it.

 

 _Qi’ra **had** him, and then she  **lost**  him. That isn’t my fault, _he snaps. He knows the story. A drunk, distressed Qi’ra is a talkative Qi’ra.

"Blah, blah, blah, Han and Qi’ra escaping Corellia. Only Han made it off, yada, yada, yada. Crying. Everybody’s crying." Ugh. He’s acquainted with the routine.

The last few nights, as Lando lays in his bunk and listens to the smooth, mechanical noises of the Falcon humming beneath and all around him, he’s felt…lonely. His dreams aren’t wildly explicit, somehow. Just replaying the moment when he first woke up to Han in his bed, over and over, with a slightly different ending. He closes his eyes and leans his head against the gently curving wall, and he can just about picture it again:

_Lando stirs awake, and Han’s head rests against his chest. Their fingers are locked and Han’s breathing is soft and even. Lando shifts out of his grip to take a shower. There is so much reluctance this time around._

 

_When he returns, Han is still asleep. Lando starts to hum tunelessly while he gets dressed. Soon, Han blinks awake slowly. His eyes are squinted and his hair is messy. He tilts his chin up to register Lando, and his face breaks into a wide, dopey grin. “Hi,” he says. Lando chuckles and ducks to kiss the tip of his nose._

 

_“Morning,” he replies, an equally stupid grin starting to spread on his own face. There’s a warm feeling that fills him up and reaches his toes. Han stares at him for a few more seconds, then grabs him by the scarf already wound around his neck and tugs him into a proper kiss; a slow, fantastically easy kiss._

 

_“Mm…I could get used to this,” Han mumbles, pulling away but still smiling._

_“Get used to what?”_

 

_“This,” Han says and tries to kiss him again, only this time he misses and gets the corner of Lando’s mouth instead. Lando shoves him playfully._

 

_“Come on, you idiot. Go put on some clothes.”_

 

_“I thought you liked me in the nude?”_

 

 _“Just because_   ** _I_** _do, doesn’t mean Chewie will.”_

 

_Han groans, but agrees, and rolls out of bed, stopping only to smack Lando on the butt before strutting off to the attached shower._

 

_Lando sinks onto the edge of the bed, the grin refusing to unstick itself from his face._

_Yeah._

_He could get used to this, too._

 

Lando opens his eyes, and he is alone. There is emptiness inside him; emptiness around him. His eyes sting. His legs are thick with pins and needles, and he blinks back tears.  _Why am I crying?_

 

 _You’re tired of being alone, Lando,_ says the same voice of reason.

He pushes himself to his feet, wobbling slightly, and pries the sickening thought of Qi’ra’s hands all over Han’s body out of his mind. But the made-up memory, sun-drenched and forever out of his reach, will not go down easy. He wants alcohol to make it go away. He wants Beckett’s whiskey. It’s on the dejarik table in the bridge; he can see it in his mind. But Han will be there. Or at least, Qi’ra. He’d rather not see either of them tonight.

Lando is tired. His whole body aches. It aches for _Han,_ much as he’d rather not admit it. He makes a fist with one hand and stuffs it into his mouth, to muffle a sob that he didn’t know wanted to get out.

He and Han haven’t slept together in days. Tonight, was probably the longest conversation they had had. Lando wants nothing more than to go back to the way things were _before_ Yiv La’ar. He wants to go back to when things made _sense._ To back when he didn’t have _feelings_ for Han. To back when it was just meaningless sex and easy friendship. When did it get so complicated?

Han’s been avoiding him. Lando’s just been making things easier by avoiding him back. It isn’t difficult; the Falcon is a pretty big ship.

_“I’ll always come back.”_

Lando knows that he feels…he feels _something_ for Han. He doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t know how much of it he’s feeling, nor does he want to find out. He just knows that it’s _there_ and that it’s _real._ As real as he is. And that it isn’t going to go away any time soon. _Not just a crush._

Lando draws back his clenched fist, and there are red teeth marks in the back of his hand. He drags his sleeve across his face, and it comes away damp.

He stumbles towards the bed – it looks so soft and welcoming – kicking off his boots and peeling off his tunic shirt, so that all he wears are dirty socks, dirty pants, and a comparatively less dirty undershirt. Drawing the covers up to his neck, he whimpers into the pillows’ embrace. They’re made of real kajak hair. Not easy to come by.

 

_“I’ll **always** come back.”_

Lando had to go and say _that_ and make everything weird.

 

_Han kissed you first._

Would he have kissed Lando if the latter hadn’t torn down some unspoken boundary between them with four words? Probably not. All the more reason to believe that Han had simply not been thinking clearly. Neither had Lando, for that matter. It could only be chalked up to a stupid mistake.

 

And these _feelings?_ Were they real? Or psychosomatic? It was probably just jealousy, which was only natural, since Lando and Han were sleeping together and seeing Han with someone else was a sign that their arrangement could be meeting its end. That was all it was.

 

Soon the pillows are damp, too. Lando squeezes his eyes shut.

 

 _Damn you, Han Solo,_ is the last thing that runs through his mind, before he is overtaken by sleep.

* * *

 

Lando is awake in a second when something jostles him in his fitful sleep. He opens his eyes blearily, and takes a while to adjust to the darkness. He didn’t recall switching the lights off.

 

“It’s me,” whispers a hoarse voice, and Lando hates that he knows who it is.

 

“What’re you doing, Han?” he asks the tall figure standing over his bunk.

 

Han is silent. He drops to his knees and takes Lando’s hand. He presses his lips to it, his eyes not leaving Lando’s for a second.

 

“Can I…?”

 

Without thinking, Lando drapes his arms around Han’s neck and pulls him closer. He can’t bring himself to speak, so he doesn’t. Merely nods and shifts to make room for Han. If sex is all he can get from Han, then he’ll take it without a single utterance of complaint. Something is better than nothing, after all.

 

He ignores the tiny voice inside that tells him that this is a bad idea as Han toes off his boots and slips into the bed.

 

Rather than start to undress, like they usually do during times like these, Han grabs Lando’s hand again and holds it close to his chest. He lays down, facing Lando, who frowns.

 

“What’s wrong?” asks Lando. He immediately knows that something is off.

 

Han grits his teeth and presses closer, burying his face in Lando’s neck. “Nightmares,” he mumbles weakly, and it’s so soft that Lando barely catches it.

 

Lando doesn’t probe further. He doesn’t say anything more. He knows that right now, Han needs him. And damn it, if he isn’t going to be there for him.

 

Lando slides an arm around Han’s hips, tucking the other underneath Han’s head, and draws Han’s body flush against his own. He rubs soothing circles into Han’s back, and the tension coiled in his muscles disappears under Lando’s fingertips.

 

When Han starts to cry, sobbing softly into the hollow of Lando’s neck, shoulders shaking, Lando just holds him tighter. He doesn’t ask what the nightmares were about. He knows it’s not his place to do so; that Han will tell him if he wants to. Han fists the material of Lando’s shirt, and for once, Lando could care less that it might get ruined.

 

The sobbing eventually fades, and the residual hiccoughing evens out.

 

Han pulls away, eyes bloodshot and skin with red blotches. He swipes his sleeve over his face. “I’m sorry. I should go,” he exhales.

 

“You can stay here if you want.”

 

Han takes a deep, shuddering breath, and nods once, tight-lipped. “Okay,” he says, and his arms snake around Lando again. They hold each other in the dark. Their boundaries have shifted again.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Lando murmurs into Han’s hair after what seems like forever.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What…what is this?”

 

“I think it’s called a hug, Lando.”

 

“I know _that,_ ” Lando chuckles a little. “I meant what is _this._ You. Me. Us.”

 

“You said there wasn’t an ‘us’.”

 

Silence.

 

Lando steels himself to speak again. “So where do we stand? What…what would you call this?”

 

“…I don’t know.” Han pauses. “Is my being here complicating things?” he asks quietly.

 

“Maybe?”

 

“Should I go?”

 

“I don’t know. Do you want to go?”

 

It’s a long, long time before Han mumbles, “Not really.”

 

“Okay. I guess…I guess it only gets complicated if we make it complicated.”

 

“Yeah, and that’s going to be easy, since I’m such a pro at keeping things simple.”

 

Lando frowns. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You know what I’m talking about. That fuel run on Yiv La’ar. I went and kissed you like-like some stupid piece of shit.”

 

“You’re one to talk. I basically rattled off life vows.”  _That was meant to be lighthearted. Is it too soon for jokes?_ Lando thinks he might throw up in the eternity it takes for Han to speak.

 

“Did you mean it, though?”

 

“Mean what?”

 

“Did you mean what you said? That you’ll…that you’ll always come back?”

 

Lando wants to answer that he’s never meant anything more in his whole life. But he doesn’t. _Don’t say anything; you’ll ruin it._

 

“If I said ‘yes’, would that complicate things?” he asks instead.

 

“Maybe. Probably." Then, uncertainly, " _Are_ you saying yes?”

 

“I don’t know; it was a heat-of-the-moment thing.” _It wasn’t. I meant it. I still do._

 

Han nods. “Okay. Okay, good. We’re back to normal.” He finally meets Lando’s gaze. “Aren't we?”

 

“Yeah. I think we are.”

 

“Alright. And hey,” he begins, “I’m sorry I kissed Qi’ra in your cape room today. That was a real dick move. I was being petty, or something, I dunno. I’m sorry. It must’ve been…weird. For you.”

 

Lando exhales. “It wasn’t weird. I was just…kind of surprised. That-that you guys hated me and my capes so much, that you decided to desecrate them.” It’s a feeble attempt at lightening the situation.

 

“I don’t hate your capes.”

 

“Yeah, you do.”

 

“I don’t hate you, either.”

 

“Yeah, you do.”

 

Han fixes him with a dead serious look. “I don’t hate you,” he repeats.

 

Lando swallows. “Please don’t make it complicated, Han.”

 

“ _I don’t_ _hate_ _you_.”

 

“…I know.”

* * *

 

In the morning, Han is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoever got that reference at the very end, please buy yourself a piece of cake and say it's from me
> 
> i apparently forgot to put this in at the beginning but im on tumblr @buchahnans if anybody wants to yell about lando because i am DOWN


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lando loses Elthree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A N G S T  
> LIKE HOLY HECK THERE'S SOME ANGST HERE  
> (P.S. this is pretty short but I'm lowkey proud of it)

Lando turns his head to Elthree’s voice. She’s surrounded by chaos, her fist raised triumphantly, and Lando feels a bloom of the happy comfort he feels whenever he’s around Elthree. It’s like being around family. It’s calm and grounding.

Then someone in a shooter’s turret guns her down, and even as Lando tears across the battle-scorched clearing towards her, he knows he won’t feel that warm fuzziness in his chest ever again.

* * *

 

“Lando? What’s…what’s h-happening to me-e-e…?” she asks, voice garbled, and then the light in her eyes flickers out.

Lando screams.

* * *

 People are running towards him. Or are they running away from him? He can’t tell. Are they his people? Does he even _have_ people? Their mouths are moving, but he can’t hear them. _Han?_

Elthree comes apart in his hands. Her circuits hiss. His heart breaks.

Suddenly, there’s a loud wail. A high, singing arc of heat. Blasters?

Then, there is only pain. So much pain. Lando clamps down a sob with his teeth.

His shirt is torn and brown and red. He frowns. That’s weird. He could’ve sworn there was more yellow.

Everyone seems to move in slow motion, as if they’re underwater, and Lando is watching them, detached, from behind thick glass.

It reminds him vaguely of an observation deck.

He can’t feel his fingers.

* * *

  _Don’t leave me, El._

_Please._

She’s gone. He can see it from where he’s collapsed several feet away.

There’s dust in his mouth.

* * *

 “Han?”

“We’re gonna get you out of here.”

“I can’t…Elthree…They… _oh, fuck,_ Han -”

“Stay with me.” His eyes are brown. There’s a tiny fleck of gold in them. _Was that always there?_

“Elthree…”

“Chewie, grab Lando and head for the Falcon!”

Lando is numb when he asks, “What about you?”

“I’m going back for her.”

“Don’t. You could-could get hurt, or -”

“Hey,” Han breathes, and Lando’s brain grinds to a halt. There is only _him_. The world around them is quiet and unimportant. _Han._ “I’ll be okay.”

“I can’t-I…I won’t lose you both. _Please_.”

“I’ll always come back,” he murmurs. Something tells Lando that there is painful significance to his words. He doesn’t really know; he’s just trying not to pass out. “Chewie!” Han calls. Lando grabs his shirt and pulls him closer, eyes stinging with the effort.

“Promise,” Lando whispers; _begs_. His heart aches. Aches for Elthree, the one who’s been there with him for as long as he can remember. For Han, whom he can’t live without. _When did you become so important to me?_ “Promise you’ll come back.”

Han holds up his little finger. “Pinky promise,” he says seriously. Lando twines his little finger with Han’s, and then they let go.

Chewbacca scoops Lando up into his big, furry arms. Lando’s shoulder howls, and the last thing he sees is Han, smiling small, determination carved into his features, blaster in hand.

He’s running. Lando wants to stop him. _Don’t leave me._

He can’t move.

* * *

 “She’s a part of the ship, now,” breathes Lando. He runs his palm on the walls of the cockpit. He looks at Han, pain and something else licking his insides.

“Take care of her.”

“I will.”

_I know. There's nobody I trust her with more than you._

* * *

 “You can’t make the Kessel Run in less than 20 parsecs!”

“Let’s see about that. Chewie, punch it.”

The force of coaxium-infused hyperspeed is enough to rupture the temporary stitches in his shoulder, and there’s _so much blood._

Qi’ra’s hands are on him, steadying him, and her pale, dainty fingers are slicked red.

“Lando! No!” Han roars, but Lando is far, far away.

* * *

 Lando shifts. He’s on a…something flat, and hard. A table? Or the ground? Or is he dead?

_“Don’t move.”_

…is that Shyriiwook?

“Chewie? Wh -” Lando tries to sit up.

_“What part of ‘don’t move’ do you not understand?”_

Lando freezes.

There’s a sharp prick in his upper arm, and Lando is falling, falling, falling.

It’s quiet.

* * *

  _“I’ll always come back to you.”_

It’s their way of saying the things that they’re afraid to.

_I wish I wasn’t afraid._

* * *

 Consciousness comes in fits and starts.

He can’t open his eyelids. Can’t move his hands, legs – anything. He’s essentially a vegetable. _Great._

“-sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

_Wait._

_I know that voice._

_…Han Solo?_

“I’m so sorry, baby. I should’ve…I -”

_‘Baby’?_

“Kriff, it’s my fault you’re like this.”

_It isn’t! It’s not your fault! It’s not-_

There are lips on his knuckles. Fingers clenching his. His eyes _won’t open,_ dammit _._

“I’m sorry.”

_Please don’t be sorry._

Someone’s tears on his hands. Loud sobbing. _Don’t cry, Han Solo._

“…I promised you I’d come back. And I did. Now I need you to come back to me. I need you back. I need -”

Darkness pulls Lando under.

* * *

 “HAN!” Lando screams. There is no light when he wakes up. Has he even woken up yet? Or this another dream; another vegetable moment?

His throat is hoarse. His whole body is sore, but creaking to life.

He hears footsteps. Fast footsteps. Urgent footsteps.

The room – the medbay – surges suddenly with blinding light.

Han looks tired and frantic. His hair is disheveled, clothes rumpled and dirty.

He crosses the floor and envelops Lando in a tight hug. “I thought you were-” he chokes out. Lando beats him to the punch.

“Yeah. So did I. Guess some part of me knew I couldn’t break a pinky promise.”

Han chuckles weakly into Lando’s hair. His shoulders are shaking.

“Plus, I need my twenty percent,” Lando adds, and Han laughs harder. It isn’t that funny, but Lando guesses it’s another one of those things that people do when they’re relieved.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll get Chewie down here,” Han says, pulling away and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“He knows medicine?”

Han nods.

“Man. That Wookiee never ceases to amaze me.”

Han gives him a funny look, and squeezes Lando’s hands. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

 Chewbacca declares him to be in good health and sends him out of the medbay.

 _“Thank you,”_ Lando growls in feeble Shyriiwook, and Chewie smiles.

 _“It’s no trouble,”_ he replies.

Han is nowhere to be found. It’s not like Lando was looking for him, or anything.

* * *

 

It’s alone on the observation deck one night, that Lando realizes he’s in love.

The realization makes his heart stumble in his chest.

His fingers clench around the rails. His throat is dry.

In the smallest voice he can muster, he whispers to the stars, “I love you, Han.”

And it feels like the most honest thing he’s said in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're nearing the end, guys!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta admit, this seemed a lot bigger on word :/

“…and that’s about the long and short of it,” Han sighs, leaning forward and hunching his shoulders, elbows balanced on his knees and fingers knotted.

Lando blinks. _Was I seriously knocked out through all of that?_

 “Oh, and one more thing,” Han adds, “Qi’ra left.”

Lando hates that his heart leaps at that. Han is clearly dejected. His forces himself not to be too outwardly happy.

“How come?” he asks coolly.

Han gives a noncommittal shrug. “Dunno. She said she’d be ‘right behind me’ or whatever when I was leaving Dryden’s floating knife-ship, but then after…after Beckett -” Han takes a minute to compose himself. “After I killed Beckett,” he continues in an unflinching voice, “I saw the ship just kind of…going. Something told me she’d hightailed it. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew she wasn’t coming back.”

Lando knows it’s a bad idea to touch Han right now, but he goes ahead and puts his hand on Han’s knee, anyway. “Pfassk, Han. I’m so sorry,” he says in what he hopes is convincing enough tone. Han stares at Lando’s hand for a while, before Lando decides that he should maybe move his hand somewhere else. He draws it back and means to drop it in his lap, when Han grabs his wrist. Han opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something else, but thinks better of it, jaw clamping and fingers uncurling. He looks away.

Lando wants to scream; he’s so upset. When did things get so…awkward between them? Rather than when, _why_ did things get so awkward between them?

“I’ll…uh, go check on…on Chewie,” Han mumbles, standing up and walking briskly out of the dining galley.

Lando sips the remainder of Beckett’s – no, _his_ – whiskey slowly and listlessly. He’s got time to savor it. There’s nobody waiting for him.

Rather than do the dishes, he decides to tilt his head back and stare at the sleek white ceiling.

All he can think of is Han. Han. _Han._

Lando hates how Han’s hair sticks up in gravity-defying ways, and he hates that Han’s fingers are always carding through it and making it a thousand times worse. He hates that Han leaves his stuff everywhere, and tracks mud all through the hallways. He hates how Han sticks his tongue out the corner of his mouth when he concentrates. He hates that Han props his feet up on all the tables, and doesn’t button his collar, and talks while chewing, and that his commanding, (albeit lopsided) walk-slash-strut, is a result of a broken leg that healed back off-center. He hates that Han spends his time poking and prodding at the Falcon’s insides, because of which he always has the fumes of freighter fuel and machinery hanging about him. He hates that Han waves his arms whenever he’s talking about something he’s excited about. He hates that Han smells like his soap; _Lando’s_ soap.

Most of all, Lando hates that he doesn’t really hate Han. That he probably _never_ hated him. That using the word ‘hate’ is so much easier than say the things he really wants to.

Lando opens his eyes, when he doesn’t recall closing them.

_I’m going to tell him._

_I’m going to tell him we can’t keep doing this anymore._

Lando feels like he’s thinking clearly for the first time in a really long time.

* * *

 

“Han? Can we talk?”

Han freezes where he sits, cross-legged on the floor of the guest quarters that have now become _his_ quarters. His blaster has been dismantled and its various parts are strewn carefully on a rag in front of him. One of the barrels is clutched in his right hand, and with his left hand, he cleans furiously. Or, at least, he _was_ cleaning, until Lando interrupted him. He glances up at Lando. “That’s never a great way to start a conversation,” he laughs nervously. Lando doesn’t even crack a smile, nodding down to the spot beside Han to ask wordlessly, _mind if I sit?_

Han waves his hand by way of invitation. _Sure._

Lando mirror’s Han’s position by crossing his legs, too. He fiddles with the hem of his tunic shirt. Han, Lando notices, is wearing that awful black vest he found in Lando’s ‘don’t-wear-unless-threatened’ drawer. It’s a little small for him, but Han is adamant to keep it.  So Lando indulges him, in the interest of keeping him happy, _not_ because it suits him perfectly. Not at all.

“So, what’s buzzin’?” asks Han. The phrase is something he picked up from Nar Shaddaa, or so Lando’s been told. Frankly, it’s another one of those little things that make Lando’s stomach twist with longing. All the more reason to get this over with.

“I need to know what’s happening here. With us.”

Han resumes cleaning, not meeting Lando’s eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says in a clipped voice.

Lando frowns, irritated. “Yes, you do. I’m talking about how we slept together for fun and never discussed it, even though you were in a relationship.” Han cleans slower. “And how you came to _me_ instead of your girlfriend when you had nightmares,” Lando adds, tone rising uncontrollably. “And how you stayed by my bedside when I was out of it, and how you held my hand and told me you _needed me_ -”

Han visibly pales. “You _heard_ me?” he interrupts in quiet disbelief.

“ _That’s_ what you’re getting from that?” Lando can almost hear his heart crack a little when Han doesn’t deny that Qi’ra was his girlfriend, and that Lando was…well, the male equivalent of his mistress, or something. That sex was all Lando was to Han. He feels so incredibly nauseated.

“How-how much did you hear?”

Lando frowns deeper. Why is Han skirting the subject?

“Nothing else.” And then, “why? _Is_ there something else?”

Han shakes his head quickly, before his shoulders deflate.

“Did you mean it?” asks Lando.

“Of _course_ I meant it,” Han replies, without missing a beat.

Lando digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and screams in frustration. “Han, what are you _doing?”_ His voice is too high to be his own.

“What am I doing?”

“This! All the-this…you’re freaking me out!”

“Lando, calm down -”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Lando snaps in a low growl. Han’s jaw tightens. “I need you to tell me, right here, right now, what kind of game you’re playing. Because I swear, Solo, it ain’t kriffin’ funny anymore.”

Han looks like someone just shot him. “I… _game?”_

“Oh, come _on._ Don’t act dumb with me.”

“There isn’t any game!”

“Do I look like an idiot? Some kind of…of person who you can just con and blackmail and-and torture until you get what you want?”

Han goes quiet. “Torture?” he whispers.

Lando swallows. “Han, please. _Please._ I’m begging you. Just this once, tell me the truth.”

“I don’t know what you’re _talking_ about, Lando.” His voice is pained.

“Well, _I_ know that I probably never meant anything to you. That you probably said and did all the things you did to give me some reason to stay here. All the ‘I’ll always come back’, or the ‘I need you’ wampa-crap was just a ruse, wasn’t it? You probably keep me around because your girlfriend won’t fuck you herself.” The second those words leave his mouth, he knows he’s taken it too far.

Han bites his lip. His face is a whirlwind of emotion. Anger and an undertone of intense sorrow. “She wasn’t my girlfriend,” Han says finally, fighting to keep something loud and terrible out of his voice. The finality with which he speaks is almost worse than any cuss he could’ve hurled at Lando.

Lando stares at the floor. His chest feels empty. Correction: it _is_ worse than any cuss he could’ve hurled.

“She wasn’t my girlfriend, and I would _never_ use you for sex.” Han rises to his feet, tone devoid of any emotion. “Look, I may be afraid to talk about the things I feel, but at least I don’t run around making wild accusations that can hurt other people. _Especially_ when those ‘other people’ are people who _care_ about you. Because, _Calrissian,_ ” he spits Lando’s last name like a curse, as though Lando just robbed him of a tall pile of credits at sabbac. Lando used to be proud when people said his name like that, but now? It makes him want to stop existing, altogether. “The amount of people who care about you? That number is getting really kriffing small.”

Han is leaving. Lando’s heart breaks properly. Snaps into two pieces, right down the middle, and it hurts. _Pfassk,_ it hurts. He’s ruined everything, now. All he wants to do is crawl into a hole and just _die_. He’s a little stunned by how much it hurts, really. It knocks the wind out of his lungs.

Han is leaving.

Lando can’t breathe.

Han is leaving.

* * *

 

_“I can’t-I…I won’t lose you both. **Please**.”_

_“I’ll always come back.”_

_“Promise. Promise you’ll come back.”_

_“Pinky promise.”_

* * *

 

The doors slide open, Han’s palm on the scanner.

Lando swallows thickly.

* * *

 

_“I didn’t know where you were. I-I didn’t know if you were coming back. The mind tends…to wander.”_

_“I’ll always come back.”_

* * *

 

_“I promised I’d come back, didn’t I? Now I need you to come back to me. I need you. I need -”_

* * *

 

Lando knows that, however much he tries to run from this, he just can’t. It’s impossible. In the end, they’ll always come back to each other. It’s hardwired into them. It’s _always_ them, always has been, always is, always will be, just the two of them, in the end.

“I love you,” says Lando, voice cracking on the cusp of a sob, and it’s so so soft, and so so dangerous. He says it like it’s the last thing he’ll ever say. He doesn’t know if Han even heard him. Doesn’t dare look at Han. He just…can’t. _He didn’t hear me, he didn’t hear me; he’s gone, he’s gone, I’ve chased him away, I -_

“What?”

Lando’s teary eyes lift off the floor and they lock on Han. His body is standing stock-still in the doorway. His posture is stiff.

Han heard him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...........you know how earlier i was like 'we might be nearing the end'?  
> turns out, i was wrong. oops.  
> lots more comin' for these two  
> updates every wednesday!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this came a little (okay a lot i know im sorry) late, mostly because of some backstory I decided to add at the last second.

_He’s four years old; his father’s storming out of the house again. There’s broken glass bottles on the floor, malice in the air. His mother cries. Her makeup runs. There is an exhausted undertone in the way she hugs him to her chest. Almost routine. Has this happened before? He can’t remember. Why is she crying? He can’t remember. He hopes his father will return and comfort her._

_His father doesn’t come home for three days._

* * *

 

_He’s eight, and he watches his father being dragged away screaming and thrashing by heavily armed creatures. Some have a lot of weapons, and some just have a lot of arms. “Rendar rubbed the wrong kinds of people the wrong way,” they say. He remembers fear. “He’s gone. For good,” his mother says with grim satisfaction. She kneels and taps his jaw with two fingers. “Chin up, my darling,” she smiles tiredly. “The sun will shine on us soon enough.”_

_He believes her._

* * *

 

_He's thirteen when he runs his first job as a pickpocket._

_He comes home with all array of jewelry, timepieces, and a number of other tchotchkes that make his pockets bulge. They gleam gold and silver and they're very heavy, all in all, so he assumes that they'd be worth something._

_He displays his spoils on the table._

_"To pay off the debt," he explains._

_His mother looks furious. "We are Calrissians," she says, "we do not steal to make ends meet."_

_"We need it more than they do," he replies._

_"You may have had good intentions, but if you keep doing this, you're in this life for good."_

_"I don't care. I'll steal from everyone in Socorro so that you don't have to."_

* * *

 

_He's fifteen when he runs away from home._

_Stay, and he'll be thrown in jail._

_Leaving is the best option.The **only**_ _option._

" _I'll come back," promises his untidy scrawl on a piece of paper. He hopes his mother finds the note. He hopes she understands._

* * *

 

_He’s seventeen, and he hasn’t seen home in weeks, or months, or has it been years? Time’s slipped from him. There’s blood on his hands and a price on his head. Murmuring voices everywhere. “Isn’t that Rendar’s boy?” He hates that. It makes bile rise in the back of his throat and anger coil tight in his belly. “That’s not my father,” he snarls in reply. He hates that people take one look at him, and all they see is that coward; that drunkard. He vows that they will soon forget the name ‘Rendar Anselm.’ They will forget Rendar, the man who left his family for the chance to get his fingers on more bottles, but they will remember his son._

_Oh, they will remember him._

* * *

 

_He’s eighteen when he finds the grave of one Solari Anselm on Socorro; it looks weathered down and defeated. Everything his mother was not. With her high cheekbones and haughty gaze, she was a queen in every sense of the term bar the title itself. She didn’t cower, even in the face of a husband who raged and roared, violent as the sea._

_He remembers her, shoulders squared and stance firm. Dark hair pulled away from her angular face into tight, elaborate Socorrian knots. Gowns billowed from her tall frame. She wore beautiful colors. He remembers clinging onto her skirts and knowing that he was protected. Her eyes burned bright and brown. They were the same eyes set that in his own face, and it is the same stubborn determination that helps him stand as it helped her stand, all those years ago._

_“What we look like on the outside, is what people think we are like on the inside. You are your most powerful disguise,” she would tell him, while she carefully powdered bruises and hid them beneath flowing silks. “Letting someone inside is a dangerous thing to do. You must hope that they will still look at you the same way when they find out who you are underneath.” He lives by that rule to this day._

_But she is gone. Solari Anselm, née Calrissian. Who knows how long she has been here, beneath the ground, waiting for her son to return?_

_His mouth tastes coppery. His teeth dig into his lip._

_He is alone._

* * *

 

_“Name?” someone asks one day. He doesn’t remember why._

_What he does know, is that his lips curled into a grin like the sickle moon as he answered, “Lando Calrissian,” in a voice as certain as the stars in the sky. His old self, Lando Anselm, has been gnarled and wrecked by the unfairness of the world around him. So much so, that he doesn't even recognize himself in the mirror anymore. The miner's boy is long gone; Rendar Anselm's boy is long gone. All that stands in the wake of his parting, is a man with a cape around his shoulders and a silver knife for a tongue._

_His mother wore capes. He wears them for her._

_His mother did not wear a blaster at her hip. He wears one for himself._

* * *

_You are alone. It is safer that way._

_Is it?_

* * *

 

Han’s face is all jaw hanging and eyes wide.

“You…you _what?”_

Lando wants to deny that he ever said it.

He can’t.

Lying should come easy by now. He’s spent most of his life lying his way out of sticky situations, so this should be a piece of ricecake.

Unsurprisingly enough, it’s not. Things are _never_ as easy as that with Han.

“I love you,” he says, a little quieter; a little more for himself rather than Han. Then, louder, “I can’t believe it took me this long to realize, but I do. I love you. _Pfassk,_ I love you.”

He’s on his feet, advancing towards Han and grabbing his hands and holding them tightly. Something tells him that if he lets go, he’ll fall, and fall, and fall, and nothing can bring him back. So he holds on tighter. Laces their fingers together.

Han is silent. Lando’s eyes are pleading.

“Say something,” he whispers. He sounds so _unbelievably_ pathetic right now. If he was someone else, he would be gagging. _Way to go, Lando._

Lando can actually _feel_ his heart breaking.

“Don’t say that. You…you don’t know what that means. You don’t know what you’re doing.” Han looks like he might cry.

“That’s just it, Han. I _know_ what it means. And I’m scared – terrified, even - but I know that I needed to tell you. I had to.”

“Please don’t do this.”

Lando’s cheeks are hot and damp. _I’m losing him. I’m losing him. I’m losing him._

Imagine a thousand explosions inside one building. Every _boom!_ wrecks the scaffolding and support structures, and rattles the building to its very foundations, and it’s going to crumble in on itself any second. For some reason though, it’s destined to look unchanged on the outside. So someone tacks a couple of boards up over it, and it looks alright, almost as good as before, but the truth is, it’s not. It’s destroyed, irreparably so, and there’s dust and smoke everywhere, but the coverings make it seem like nothing has changed.

That’s Lando right now.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to do.

He decides to wing it.

Lando raises Han’s hands to his mouth.

“I love your stupid face, and your stupid hair, and your stupid laugh, and how stupidly kind you are, and your stupid walk, and your stupid voice, and every stupid little thing about you. I can’t stop being in love with you, I _won’t_ stop being in love with you.” He punctuates every pause between the words with a kiss to Han’s knuckles.

“I love you.” Another kiss.

“I love you.” Another kiss.

“I -”

Han pulls his hands away.

Lando pauses.

He holds his breath as Han opens his mouth to speak; to reject him and kick him off the Falcon. Bites back tears. _I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him for good this time._

Han clamps his mouth shut, and instead of saying anything, backtracks slowly out of the room.

When the door closes, the weight of what Lando’s done comes crashing down on him, and his legs don’t support him anymore.

The building collapses, façade and all, and Lando feels nothing. His sobs echo.

_Safer to be alone._

* * *

 

It takes an infinity compressed into a single second for Lando to register the door of his quarters sliding open, later. It’s night. It’s always night when the door opens of its own accord. It’s always night when that brown-eyed, smooth-talking smuggler decides to make an appearance in Lando’s room. A piece of shadow breaks off and makes its way towards the pool of light cast by a dim lamp at Lando’s bedside. His heart is heavy. He hasn’t seen Han since…since this afternoon.

Sleep eludes him, so he simply sits on the bed, fingers knotted loosely in his lap, thinking about Before.

Before he fell in love and got his heart broken, that is.

“What do you want?” he asks in a small, weary voice. The lights don’t turn on; they never do during times like this.

Han steps out of the shadow he’s enveloped in. His eyes, Lando notices in the soft light, are red and puffy and bloodshot. _Crying eyes,_ Lando thinks. He knows what those look like all too well. Han kneels down in front of Lando, and takes his hands. Calloused hands in calloused hands.

“I love you, too.”

Lando’s heart stumbles. _What?_

“I was scared to tell you earlier. I was so _so_ scared,” Han continues in a hoarse voice. Lando’s throat is dry. _You love me?_

“I didn’t let myself think, for even a minute, that you felt anything for me, and I didn’t want myself to-to get hurt. _Again_. The last person I said it to? She took my heart and stomped all over it in five-inch stilettoes,” Han laughs wetly, and Lando forces out a chuckle.

“And I’m sorry. _Kriff,_ you’ve no idea how much I hated myself for walking out. Away from you. Every single time I shut things down, it’s because I was afraid. Of what I was feeling. Because it was so new. I’ve never felt like this before.” His eyes, even in the gloom, are honest. Honest eyes are never good for gambling.

Han licks his lips and cups Lando’s jaw with tentative, unsure hands. “You…” he inhales deeply through the nose, “you are the most extraordinary man I’ve ever met. And I’m crazy about you. I’m completely, totally, inexplicably  _crazy_ about you.” Lando’s breath catches. His own hands settle around Han’s hips to steady himself.

“I love you so _damn_ much, Lando Calrissian,” he breathes, and they’re _thisclose._ Han brushes his lips against Lando’s carefully, as though he’s still uncertain as to whether he’s allowed to do it. His eyebrows are arches. His voice is full of…of love. That’s all it is. That’s all Lando feels.

“I know,” Lando chokes out, and closes the distance between them properly.

They’re kissing and crying and moaning and whispering terrified I-love-yous every time they pull apart. Lando’s fingers curl in the short hair at the nape of Han’s neck, and he kisses Han like he’s a drowning man gasping for air. The pads of Han’s thumbs brush tears from Lando’s cheekbones. There are fireworks in Lando’s chest.

“Why’re you crying, baby?” Han laughs weakly, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against Lando’s. Tears track down his own cheeks.

“Happy tears. These’re happy tears,” Lando dismisses, breathing hard against Han, grinning despite himself. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”

Han pulls him closer. “I’d do it all over in a heartbeat, if it meant I could kiss you like that again,” he mumbles.

“Didn’t know you were such a sap,” Lando remarks.

“A sap you’re in love with.”

Lando runs his thumbs over Han’s jaw. “Yeah,” he sighs, and kisses Han again.

_Not alone anymore._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter, guys!! i couldn't wait till wednesday, so here it is!

Lando finds Han in the captain’s quarters, checking himself out in the floor-length mirror. He’s changed out of his black shirt and jacket and exchanged it for one of Lando’s parchment-colored button ups, the collar upturned and left open. Lando frowns at the vest he has on. He never really told Han off for wearing it. Now is as good a time as any.

“Is that mine?” he asks, settling down into a couch behind Han and stretching out his legs. Han glances up, as though he’s only _just_ noticed Lando, and a grin breaks across his face. He smiles at Lando’s reflection.

“Yeah! I found it in your rejects drawer. Neat, huh?” He gives a little half-spin on his heel to show it off. Lando does not find that endearing.

“Han, baby, there’s a reason it’s called the ‘rejects drawer.”

“I know, but you gotta admit it looks good on me.”

“…maybe.”

“’Maybe’? C’mon, Calrissian. Gimme at least a _little_ credit.”

“I’m just saying that you should probably save it for something special. Like, I dunno, an awards ceremony.”

Han snorts. “Who’s gonna give _me_ an award? The king? There aren’t any real kings out there anymore.”

“How do you explain there being a princess on Alderaan? And on Nor Eli? And -”

“Self-imposed title. They all are. Like flyboys these days picking out their own callsigns.”

“My, my. What boundless wisdom you possess.”

“it’s baffling, I know.”

Lando rolls his eyes. He refuses to admit that it’s the most _fantastic_ thing he’s ever seen Han wear, nor does he want to admit that he’s already dreaming about taking it _off,_ later. “Fine. Keep it. Just don’t ruin it. You’ve got a penchant for ruining things,” he chides halfheartedly.

Han grins wickedly, turning to face Lando. “Like how I ruined you?” he asks coyly. Lando wills himself not to blush.

“ _Please._ If anyone’s ruining anyone, it’s _me_ ruining _you._ ”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.”

* * *

 Chewie walks in on them making out on the observation deck that night. Unflinching, he folds his arms across his chest and growls, “ _It’s about damn time,_ ” before stalking off. It occurs to Lando that they never actually told Chewie about their relationship. Han flushes and Lando laughs so hard, he’s clutching his sides and wheezing.

“It’s not that funny, Lando,” Han gripes.

“I know, but your _face,_ ” Lando whimpers amid giggles. Han is all kinds of red and squirmy, and he swats Lando’s arm irritably.

“You’re such an ass,” he chides.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Lando grins, and kisses Han on the cheek. Han rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it.

* * *

 

It’s early morning, and Lando is rolling out of bed. _Han’s_ bed. Han whines in his throat and loops his arms around Lando’s bare middle, pulling him unceremoniously back into the bed and against Han’s chest. Lando makes a surprised yelp as Han hugs him tighter. Han hums into his hair.

Lando groans and struggles against Han’s grip. “Let… _go_ of me, you heathen,” he mutters, twisting and poking Han in the forehead. Han squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

“It’s so _early_ ,” he argues.

“It’s not that early,” Lando retorts.

“It must be really _kriffin’_ early, because I’m still so _tired_.”

“So, sleep. Nobody’s stopping you.”

“You’re stopping me.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“How?”

“I can’t sleep if you’re not there.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

“Oh, for the love of -”

“Lan-do,” Han breaks his name down and drags out the syllables, in that playfully condescending way only he can manage to do. “Come on. Five more minutes?” he pleads, looking as pitiful as he possibly can.

Lando gives a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”

Han grins, eyes still closed, and damn if that doesn’t tug at Lando’s heartstrings something _awful._ “I knew I’d wear you down,” he says proudly, jaws parting in a gaping yawn.

“Don’t push it, Solo.” Han buries his nose into Lando’s shoulder.

“Deep down, you know you like it,” whispers Han in Lando’s ear.

“Whatever,” Lando says dismissively. Han laughs a little, then kisses the tip of Lando’s nose. Lando stiffens a little bit, before melting. He isn't used to the little jolt of electricity he feels when Han kisses his nose yet. He knows he'll get used to it, though.

They sleep well into the day, still tangled around each other.

* * *

 It’s been Lando’s-stopped-counting-so-who-knows-how-many-days of absolute domestic bliss, hiding away from the galaxy inside the Falcon and in each other’s arms. Getting familiar with each other, now that they have the time. Talking, laughing, kissing. Lando memorizes every inch of Han that he can. The subtle cues in his voice; his eyes; his posture, that let Lando know what he’s _really_ thinking. Every freckle on his body. His tells, what makes him tick – Lando laps it all up. He can’t get _enough_ of Han.

And Han is always open, always ready to give Lando more, so long as Lando gives in return. It’s a relationship in every sense of the word. They’re both healing, slowly but surely, and their arms are open when the other falls. At least _one_ of their beds is empty every night. It’s…honestly? It’s perfect. It couldn’t get better than this.

“So…what now?” asks Han while Lando makes sandwiches in the dining galley. Han tucks his chin on Lando’s shoulder, and slides his arms around Lando’s hips, watching the other man’s fingers work quickly. Chewie inhales sandwiches almost as fast as Lando can make them. It turns out, the Wookiee has a special place in his heart for cheese-and-vegetables-between-bread. Almost as special as trees are. And that is saying something.

“What do you mean?” asks Lando.

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“I know. But we can try.”

Han laughs a little. “At the rate Chewie’s going, we’re gonna need to step outside for food sooner than later.”

Chewie glares. “ _If push comes to shove, we can always eat Han,_ ” he tells Lando, all the while making scathing eye-contact with Han, and Lando snorts.

“I’m sure we could, but Han here is far too skinny for my taste,” he replies, pinching Han’s cheek. Han looks affronted. “Not enough meat on the bones.”

“The word you’re looking for is _lean._ ”

“ _I say we eat him anyway._ ”

“If we’re eating anyone, we’re eating you, fuzzball,” snaps Han.

“ _I will rip you limb from limb in your sleep and eat you in a sandwich._ ”

“You wouldn’t _dare,”_ Han gasps, feigning offence.

“ _Lando will make the sandwich._ ”

“Baby, you couldn’t pay me _enough,_ ” Lando laughs.

“Hah! See, Chewie? Lando won’t turn me into a sandwich for your selfish gain even if you paid him,” Han says smugly. Chewie rolls his eyes.

“ _I can convince him when the time comes,_ ” says Chewie ominously, catching the sandwich Lando throws him effortlessly. Han looks horrified, and shrinks behind Lando.

“Han, you were saying?” Lando prompts. Han frowns for a second, and then nods.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, before I was so ­ _rudely_ interrupted -” Han pauses to glare at Chewie, whose eyes are fixed on the sandwich in his paws, “- I was wondering if you’d like to…I dunno, get in a little trouble? With me?”

Lando gives him a quizzical look. “What does _that_ mean?” Chewie’s stopped being enraptured by the sandwich and is now staring at Han.

“Before he died, Beckett told me about this…this gangster on Tatooine. Said he’s cocky as hell and loaded with credits. Last I heard, he was putting together a crew for a heist, or something. We might’ve missed the sign-ups, but there’s no reason not to ask if he’s still got openings. What d’you say?”

Lando chews his bottom lip thoughtfully. Chewie’s jaw hangs. Cue long silence.

“ _Han, that is a terrible idea-_ ”

“Tatooine, huh?” Lando interrupts suddenly, hands around Han’s shoulders. Han puts his hands on Lando’s hips. Chewie growls.

“ _Lando, don’t even consider it._ ”

“If we do it, it’s gonna be dangerous.”

“Danger’s my middle name,” Han smirks.

“ _Your name is not ‘Han Danger Solo’. That sounds like the worst name in the whole world. And **my** name in basic is **Chewbacca**._ ”

“What if we get stiffed on the payment? It’s a _gangster,_ after all,” Lando muses.

“Hey, do you know who you’re talking to? I’m the legendary Han Solo. Original Scrumrat of Corellia. I made the Kessel Run in _twelve parsecs_ ,” Han says, chest puffing out with pride, and Lando rolls his eyes. “If he stiffs us, he’s gonna have to deal with _me._ Then, he adds, “Well, me and my brilliant, gambling king boyfriend, that is.” Lando can feel himself blushing, despite his best efforts not to. Han is slowly but surely buttering him up and winning him over. He knows this routine. He’s performed it several times before. And yet, Lando still finds himself believing every word Han’s saying. _Honest eyes._ That’s what gives Han away.

“ _It’s a trap, Lando!”_ Chewie tries.

“What if we don’t make it back out alive?” asks Lando.

The room goes silent.

Han exhales. “I couldn’t think of a better way to go, than standing beside the man I love,” he answers, and Lando bites the inside of his cheek. _Damn it, Han._

Lando sighs and pecks Han on the lips.

“Is this you saying yes?” asks Han, eyes searching Lando’s face. They’re talking over Chewbacca’s protests. Lando knows he should probably say that they should wait till they have more information about this ‘gangster’, but something inside him yearns for adventure. Adventure with _Han_. So what if there’s a small voice that tells him that they’re not going to make it out whole if they go through with this? So what if he’s scared that the bubble will burst and, maybe, the love that they have for each other isn’t enough? Isn’t enough to keep each other safe? Will they see the other; still _love_ the other, in the end?

What if they succeed, and they get rich beyond their wildest dreams? What if this is the job that puts them on the map? Han and Lando. _HanandLando._ The two most feared smugglers in the galaxy. It did have a nice ring to it.

“ _Stick the bread knife in his stupid face and we’ll eat him right now._ ”

“Yeah. Yeah, this is me saying yes,” Lando grins.

Han’s own grin is impossibly wide. All pointed canines and brackets carving into the sides of his mouth. It reminds Lando of a time when he used to hate Han. It seems lightyears ago.

They turn to Chewie. “You in?” Han’s eyebrows are raised.

Chewie opens his mouth to say ‘no’, but stops. He massages his temples, and sighs. He finishes his sandwich almost remorsefully.

“ _Okay, alright. Fine. I’m in,”_ he groans, finally relenting.

Han beams. “Awesome.” And then, “You wanna set course for Tatooine, my wise friend?” he asks Chewie.

“ _Oh, so **now** I’m your ‘wise friend’?” _Chewie grumbles, rising to his feet all the same and heading out of the dining galley to the cockpit. “ _You can die beside Lando but you can’t die beside me; I dragged your dumb butt off Mimban, and Savareen, and Kessel, **and** I flew this ship while you were doing unspeakable things to your boyfriend,”_ Chewie scoffs. _“You call yourself a ‘pilot’. Ungrateful. That’s what you should call yourself._ ” His sour muttering echoes even after he’s gone. Lando chuckles.

Han kisses him softly on the lips. Lando kisses back, jaw angling and teeth nipping slowly on Han’s bottom lip. Their noses bump together. It’s gentle and sweet and there is a lifetime of promises wrapped up in it.

“I won’t push if you don’t want to do it,” says Han once Chewie’s footsteps can’t be heard.

“I said ‘yes’, didn’t I?” asks Lando, frowning.

“I know you did. I also know _you._ I know your tells. You’re not convinced.”

“Look, baby,” sighs Lando, slightly amazed that Han even knew of his uncertainty. “As much as I love it here, in our own personal corner of the galaxy, _safe,_ ” Lando tilts his head slightly, “you know I can’t resist the opportunity to gamble.”

“But this is different.”

“It’s not. We’re going to go through with it, and we’re going to get in trouble halfway, and we’re not going to be able to get out, and one – or both - of us will get hurt. Things are going to end with blaster fire. I know the drill.”

Han holds Lando tighter. “At least this time around, we’ve got each other, yeah?” he says.

“That just means that there’s so much more to lose.”

“I know. But this is _you and me._ And we’re a team. And I know that I wouldn’t do this with _anyone_ else. Don’t think of it as anything else but the first job we’re doing _together_.”

Lando’s fingers trail to Han’s chest and clench the material of Han’s shirt. His eyes are trained on his hands. “If something goes wrong -” he begins in a shaky voice.

“Hey, _hey,_ ” Han interrupts. “Look at me.” Lando does.

“I promise you, that _nothing_ is going to go wrong. And even if it does, we’ll work through it. Together. Like we always do.”

Lando wonders whether now is the time to make a playful jab at Han waxing poetic. He decides against it. “Pinky promise?” he asks, mustering a coy undercut to his voice. Han smiles.

“Pinky promise.”

Lando hums, smiling small. His heart is full. “ _God_ , I love you, you filthy scoundrel.” There’s no insulting bite in the way he says it.

Han kisses his forehead. “I love you too, you egotistic troublemaker,” he replies.

And Lando doesn’t know what the future might hold. He doesn’t know if they’ll come back with their pockets full, or with their tails between their legs, or if they’ll come back at all. He _does_ know, in this moment, in Han’s arms, he’ll be okay. They’ll be okay. Their scars will heal and fade, and when the dust settles, it’ll be him and Han. No matter how rich, or poor, or wounded, or broken, it’ll be him and Han.

He knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .......and we're done, guys!!  
>  thank you so much to the wonderful people who left comments and kudos! you guys are the inspiration and the driving force behind this fic. thank you so much for sticking with Han and Lando until the end. peace and love to you all <3  
> P.S. there might be another han/lando fic in the works, because i don't think i'm done with these two quite yet.


End file.
